


A Little Birdy Told Me You Were Interested

by Le_kunokimchi



Series: The Scree's a Sea of Purples and Greens [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves Friendship, Ben and Klaus are JUST brothers in this, Dead Ben Hargreeves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Horrance, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 02, Pseudo-Incest, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Sparrow Ben Hargreeves-centric, Sparrow Ben goes by Number One, Technically?, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Sexual Tension, it's Sparrow Ben and Klaus that are the ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_kunokimchi/pseuds/Le_kunokimchi
Summary: “Last I checked, Clint Eastwood didn’t look like a hooker.”There’s a small gasp from the tall woman as a hand flies over her mouth. The fair-skinned lady raises her eyebrows and the kid just peers at him (whether in malice or amusement, he’s not really sure). But the man who the insult was intended for just huffed a laugh.“He wishes he had this body,” he flaunted, giving a shrug of his shoulders in faux humbleness. Then he tacked on with a yawn, “Prostitutes ruled the world in the Wild West; he could have got a lot more done if he knew how to shake it.”“Klaus-!” the large man hissed as he frantically looked at Sir Reginald in apology.One glowered. “So you admit that you look like a slut.”The man, supposedly Klaus, smirks. “And you admit that you were checking it out.”(OR the instance where Sparrow Academy's tough Number One has his world flipped by a strange man in a cowboy hat.)
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Ben Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: The Scree's a Sea of Purples and Greens [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912291
Comments: 101
Kudos: 605
Collections: Finished faves, The umbrella academy





	1. Yeehaw's of the Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Now That's What I Call Kinky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811002) by [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative). 



> I'm absolutely enthralled with the possible dynamic between Sparrow!Ben and Klaus so I just had to write some of my own! It got way longer than I planned so I'm breaking it up a bit. Please, guys, WE NEED MORE SPARROW HORRANCE FANFICS:3
> 
> ~Enjoy and just a reminder, this is told in the POV of Sparrow!Ben who, in this fanfic, I've chosen to have just the name Number One. I didn't feel like making OCs for the rest of Sparrow Academy so they all are basic numbered kiddos.

First off, Number One was mildly irritated. 

One moment, he’s training in the courtyard, peacefully, quietly… The next, his siblings are barreling through the back door and announcing that a group of people just magically appeared in the house. So, of course, with this revelation, he marched inside and told his siblings to wait upstairs; he was their leader, after all, he needed to keep them safe above all costs. But alas, he’d be lying if he said that his curiosity wasn’t the slightest bit piqued. It wasn’t every day that six intruders dared to pop into the Sparrow Academy relatively unarmed; it was even more of a surprise that their father had not called them in to eliminate the threat. Instead, he was talking to them; One could hear his father’s distinct voice coming from the main room and he followed the noise without a second thought. 

They interrupted his training; they deserved a piece of his mind. 

The odd-looking group didn’t seem to notice him as he swiftly made his way down the hallway leading towards the foyer; his fists were clenched as his sides and an annoyed scowl worked its way across his face as he traveled with new-found purpose. Who were these people? Who did they think they are barging in here like that? Why was the shortest wearing a uniform relatively similar to the Sparrow Academy’s? If they are a threat, like their taut and defensive positions suggested, why hasn’t Dad called him?

Forget being mildly irritated, he was _full-blown_ irritated. 

He hears their voices, undoubtedly an argument, but he doesn’t really pay attention to their words: just faces and expressions. He sizes them up as he enters the room, his patience dwindling when he sees one of the bigger fellows play with a knife in his belt loop.

How dare they talk to _the_ Sir Reginald Hargreeves like he was their equal; how dare they storm _the_ Sparrow Academy in the middle of the day without even a plan of action; how dare they interrupt _his_ first opportunity for alone time in months!

And with these annoying thoughts running through his head, he’s already saying before he can even gauge the level of threat this group imposes: “Dad, who are these assholes?”

The posse goes rigid as they all turn to gawk at him, his presence uncharacteristically demanding surprise (and was the cowboy looking relieved?) instead of fear. Maybe they weren’t expecting him to show up? Maybe they thought his other siblings were too fearful to come down from the landing? A couple of them mutter “Shit” under their breath, eyes taking in him like he was the most bizarre spectacle the world has ever seen. It made him uncomfortable and his mood reflexively sourer as he averts his gaze to his father who had yet to answer.

“Ben… You’re alive…” a tall and broad-shouldered man spoke up from the group, his eyes wide as saucers and mouth gaping in shock. Number One cast him a look of confusion and disinterest before looking back at Sir Reginald.

Was the large man addressing him? Why was he calling him Ben? Why was he so stupefied that he was alive?... Should he not be?

“Do you… not remember us?” one of the others spoke, his face scrunched up in dubiety as his tanned fist clenched tightly around the knife.

Remember them? He has never seen them before in his life!

“No,” the smallest boy said (Geez he looked to be about fourteen; what kind of ne'er-do-wells let their kids tag along? Or does this gang really start that early?). His furrowed brow and accusing stare relented ever so slightly, “It’s more like he has never met us.” 

Should he have met them? Why are they acting like they’re supposed to be acquainted? 

“Am I supposed to know you?” he snapped, suddenly feeling vulnerable under their gazes. Did they know something he didn’t? What’s with the tension between them and Dad? He felt small, powerless, out of the loop; and honestly, that just made his patience go out the window. “Dad, do you know them?”

His father didn’t reply, appearing deep in thought.

“We’re not from around here,” the surly-looking school boy explained, “You just share a similar face with someone else we know.”

A snort sounded from across the room and One’s head whipped in the direction of the offensive noise, confusion evident in his gaze. But while he had expected to be met with the face of one of the more intimidating men (or the women watching him warily for that matter), he instead locked eyes with the cowboy.

He was… an odd sight to say the least…

This guy appeared more delicate than most of the others, his body slender and elegant unlike the towering man that appeared more beast than human. He wore tight low-waisted black jeans and knee-high boots, one of his hips slightly cocked to reveal that the boots may be more for aesthetic than practicality. His dark hair was long and unruly, reaching his shoulders and curling with no sense of uniformity. His obsidian button-up vest did little to hide his milky navel and his lean chest where a pair of dog tags hung lowly. His face was a little gaunter than the rest but not sickly, sharp cheekbones and pouty pink lips accenting his wild green eyes and lengthy lashes.

A lissome hand covers his mouth to smother the next laugh that threatened to spill from his lips, his eyes wide and attentive and shoulders obviously shaking from the effort. The others seemed to glare at him.

This man, this odd but somewhat alluring man, was laughing at him; and that _really_ pisses him off for some reason. He felt a burning sensation travel up the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. 

“Got something to say, dipshit?” he questioned flusteredly.

The cowboy actually had the nerve to appear surprised at being called out. “Moi? Mich?”

One rolled his eyes. “No, the other dumbass wearing a stupid hat.”

The man’s lips pursed with a slight wrinkle of his nose. “Oh, well, I was just thinking about how much better you look in the painting,” he jutted his thumb towards the portrait, before fixing him with a bored gaze, “Pete Wentz called: he wants the emo hairdo back.”

“Dude, not the time,” the other man with the long hair warned, jabbing his elbow into his companion’s side. 

The pale woman muttered with a shake of her head, “You should really learn to keep these kinds of comments to yourself.” 

“Sorry, man, we don’t want any trouble; he’s just kind of stupid and-”

Number One’s eyes darkened, taking a couple of steps towards him. Who is he to back down from a challenge, after all… He ignored the big guy’s apology, his attention solely on the individual that was looking at his fingernails absently; it was like he was pretending that he didn’t exist.

His brow twitched; he didn’t like being dismissed.

“Like you have any room to talk,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he adds, “Last I checked, Clint Eastwood didn’t look like a hooker.”

There’s a small gasp from the tall woman as a hand flies over her mouth. The fair-skinned lady raises her eyebrows and the kid just peers at him (whether in malice or amusement, he’s not really sure). But the man who the insult was intended for just huffed a laugh.

“He wishes he had this body,” he flaunted, giving a shrug of his shoulders in faux humbleness. Then he tacked on with a yawn, “Prostitutes ruled the world in the Wild West; he could have got a lot more done if he knew how to shake it.”

“Klaus-!” the large man hissed as he frantically looked at Sir Reginald in apology.

The small girl fought a smile as the tall one snorted, even the other man and the boy appeared amused.

Great… so now they were all laughing at him. 

One glowered. “So you admit that you look like a slut.”

The man, supposedly Klaus, smirks. “And you admit that you were checking it out.”

Before he can even register his actions, he’s shoving Klaus against the wall with a growl, his forearm applying a reminding pressure on the man’s throat. 

Klaus had let out a yelp in surprise at the initial action but, now pinned, had gone very still; the others watched cautiously but made no move to step in, probably knowing that the man had brought it upon himself. 

“A sharp tongue like that is practically asking to get an ass-kicking,” One warned, his glare subtly watching the way Klaus licked his lips before returning to his eyes, “You don’t wanna test my patience.”

A nervous prick shot down his spine at the way Klaus looked at him in utter indifference; what the hell was wrong with this guy? Shouldn’t he be scared or at least intimidated? Or was the rest of the group cautious of Klaus’s actions… not his.

Klaus strained his head as far forward as One’s arm would allow, his heated gaze never leaving his as he whispered for only him to hear, “You gotta press a lot harder than that if you wanna get me going, Birdy.”

One’s expression took on a look of mortification and disgust, scrambling backward as the flush on his neck and ears spread to cheeks in an instant. Klaus snickered impishly; he gave an innocent shrug to his group as they looked at him in question. The Horror rolled in his stomach, begging to be released and avenge his wounded pride.

Father scoffed dismissively, sending him a cold glance. “Enough of these antics. You too, Number One: have some self-control.”

“Sorry Sir…” he mumbled, facing the floor to avoid the other man’s eyes. 

Reginald turns his full attention back to the intruders. “Now then, as for the rest of you…”

One observes Klaus out of the corner of his eye, seeing the man and the rest of his group collectively moue. “I am sure we can come to an agreement.”

* * *

Dinner was an awkward affair, as anyone can imagine it would be when you’re suddenly joined by strangers who claim to be time-traveling superheroes from another timeline… They also claimed to be Reginald’s children in an alternate reality; supposedly the Sparrow Academy doesn’t exist where they are from. Oh, and they’ve also caused the apocalypse… twice. 

Yeah, it was a lot to take in.

  
  


Their Father called them the Umbrella Academy, hence the matching tattoos on their wrists. (Although the tan-skinned man insisted that they went by Team Zero now… the others didn’t feel too inclined to agree.) They were all born at the same time on the same day, just like Sparrow kids; although these people were technically older due to the complicated workings of time travel. (Supposedly some of them were even older than the others because they were trapped in the past/future longer). 

The table was silent as everyone ate, some appetites smaller than others due to all the information they had to digest. Only five of the Umbrellas sat down at the table, two of them rather reluctantly if he might add. 

One couldn’t help but glare at the empty seat across from him, secretly bitter that a place was set for the man and he didn’t even bother to show up.

There was a soft murmur between the two women as they threw a few concerned looks in the direction of the forgotten plate of food but no one got up to look for him; they didn’t seem to know where Klaus was either. 

Number One wasn’t all that hungry anymore. 

As soon as Reginald excused himself from the table, some conversation broke out between the two academies. 

“So what are all of your names?” The dark-skinned woman asked as she folded her manicured fingers beneath her chin. 

“We go by numbers,” One replied, his eyes on the table as he was only half-invested in the small talk, “We’re sitting in numerical order, starting with me.”

The woman nodded. “We went by numbers too but we go by our names now. Well… except Five, he didn’t want one.”

The schoolboy, who they recently found out is actually a fifty-something-year-old man, rolled his eyes. “Names didn’t seem like a necessity.”

The Sparrow Academy hummed in agreement. “Well, I suppose we’ll need to know your names if you’re going to be living here now,” one of his siblings said (One wasn’t really paying attention; he kept thinking about a certain pair of green eyes.)

Turns out the woman was named Allison and her shorter sister was named Vanya. 

Allison had the ability to manipulate reality by using the phrase “I heard a rumor…” (Watching her make the Team Zero advocator slap himself in the face was mildly entertaining).

The pale woman could convert sound waves into energy (she scared the crap out of him as his chair began to rattle; he really needs to stop spacing out, it’s so unlike him).

The tan man with the lousy facial hair was Diego; his powers were a little iffier than the others. He could manipulate the trajectory of things when thrown (including bullets? Maybe he should have asked instead of drumming his finger upon the table). He could also hold his breath for hours on end, hence his hero-name “The Kraken”.

The very large guy was Luther. He had super strength. That was it. Someone mentioned something about his body being half-ape from a horrible accident but that conversation was shut down abruptly. 

The scary assassin kid by the name of Five was able to jump through time and space; he was the reason behind their frequent travels to different periods and timelines. He worked as an assassin/hitman for an evil organization and messed up an equation or something when traveling back from the apocalypse which was supposed to explain his thirteen-year-old body. (He talks way too fast and technical for all of them to understand but nobody dared interrupt him).

“And the cowboy?” One asked, speaking for the first time since the introductions began. “What are his powers?”

“Who? Klaus?” Diego chuckled like it was an easy question but then his expression fell and he exchanged glances with his other siblings.

One raised an eyebrow at their sudden hesitation. “What? What is it?”

“Well… he can communicate with the dead,” Five said quizzically, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. 

“And summon the dead,” Luther added.

Allison smiled and said excitedly, “And make the dead corporeal.”

Diego straightened and quickly mentioned, “Oh, and be possessed by the dead!”

“What?!” the man’s siblings exclaimed, all looking at Diego like he grew a second head. He smirked and gave a smug shrug. 

“He wasn’t lying, guys.” Diego then said in a bragging manner, “I got to hug Ben while he was possessing Klaus. We had a chat, it was nice.”

“Ben possessed Klaus?”

“That idiot wasn’t kidding then at the dinner…”

“Why did you get to talk to Ben and not the rest of us?”

“Well… Ben possessed me too using Klaus’s powers. That’s how he kept me from blowing up the building,” Vanya mumbled, a small frown on her face. The table went silent, like that was a sensitive subject for them. A few shifted awkwardly in their seats.

“Um, well, he could probably explain it better than the rest of us,” Allison said with a forced smile, “Sorry he didn’t join us, he’s… going through a lot right now.”

Number One gave his undivided attention to her, now fully intrigued. Curiosity got the better of him as he inquired, “Like what?”

The woman bit her lip in thought, looking at Vanya (who stared grimly at the table) and then at Diego (who leaned back in his chair and twirled a knife in his hand) before meeting his eyes.

“It’s not really our place to say,” she said apologetically, “He may seem really obnoxious and unfiltered, but he actually keeps a lot about his life to himself. We could tell you what our guesses are on how he’s feeling and what he’s going through, but there’s a good chance that we are way off from the truth. He only lets people see what he wants them to see. I hope you can understand.”

One frowned but nodded, knowing it is not his place to pry. Although, when he thought about it, he found it hard to picture the man openly upset; it was clear that there was more than meets the eye. He found a strong desire to peel back the layers that shrouded Klaus in mystery like he was part of some murder case in the crime-thriller novels he reads in his free time. He couldn't deny the pull he felt from the moment Klaus opened his stupid mouth, the moment he pursed those stupid lips. He was just so weird, so… different and One strangely wanted to understand him.

And that thought itself, regarding the enigma of a man, scared him a little. 


	2. Chirps of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt strange to be jealous of a dead man, a dead man he has never once met and knew barely anything about, but nothing about Klaus or the Umbrella Academy was normal so One will just say that their dysfunctional-ness was rubbing off on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here's the next chappy, enjoy!

It was half-past two when Number One heard shuffling in the hallway.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, lying in bed for hours tossing and turning. He tried reading but he couldn’t focus, reading the same paragraph for almost twenty minutes before putting the book aside with a huff. 

His mind was racing and it was all with thoughts of Klaus; he couldn’t help himself, he was powerless to stop it. 

The man’s eyes were devouring: like a thick forest that you could get lost in with just a few careless steps, you could wander for hours and see a new tree every time. His smile was like a double-edged sword: striking its victims with a false sense of security and familiarity. He seemed to act flippantly and upon a whim, but One knows that the man knew exactly what he was doing with each word that formed from those thin lips and each gesture his slender body performed. 

It was maddening how complicated one individual could be. He makes an air of easygoingness and stupidity but his gaze appears old; like he has seen things, done things, heard things that no else has or should have. There was a darkness to him that the description of his powers only heightened; One couldn’t wrap his head around what it must be like to communicate with the dead. And the man was “going through a lot”? He never would have guessed; his mask of blithe must be impeccable. 

What was hurting Klaus? What was he struggling with? Has he fought in a war (Did those dog tags belong to him?)? Who was this “Ben” person they kept talking about? Was he important to them, to Klaus? 

So many thoughts but the sound outside his room catches his attention so he decides to go and investigate. Nobody is normally up at this hour, and if they are, they wouldn’t be wandering around. Maybe it was one of the Umbrella Academy? Maybe he could learn more about them… He had some questions, after all (more like learn more about Klaus; who is he kidding). He honestly tries his best to not seem so eager but his curiosity will be the death of him one day.

He leaves his room, hearing the person make their way down the stairs. They weren’t exactly quiet but perhaps they weren’t trying to be. He followed them, trailing just far enough behind that they wouldn’t catch a glimpse of his shadow in the moonlight. But when he sees them open the door to the courtyard, he stops. Who would go outside at this time of night? Were they even dressed properly for the elements? 

Number One darts back upstairs and slips on his shoes and coat before heading out into the courtyard. 

He closes the door quietly behind him, not wanting to alert them of his presence. It was very dark in the house but the courtyard was illuminated nicely with the light of the moon, just enough that One could distinctly make out the silhouette of a cowboy hat. 

Klaus was sitting crisscrossed on the concrete, hands around a bottle of liquor in his lap and head tilted back to face the stars; his gaze was weary, lashes sparkling like they were damp. 

He felt an odd sense of nervousness, nibbling the inside of his cheek as he just watched him. He thought about going back inside, about trying to go back to sleep; maybe he could forget ever seeing Klaus out here, maybe he could pretend that the man was just a nocturnal weirdo. But that was pathetic of him, wasn’t it? A leader doesn’t leave anybody behind or in the dark, even if they are part of a different team.

He took a deep breath and willed his feet forward.

“Do people not sleep in your timeline too?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall behind him.

Klaus went rigid, glancing back with wide searching eyes. One felt his stomach twist.

The man’s expression dimmed instantly as his eyes settled on his face, turning back around with a subtle slouch of his shoulders. “Only the cool ones,” he replied lightly; it sounded forced and kind of shaky, a tinge of disappointment lacing through his tone.

Number One frowned; was Klaus expecting someone else? Did he not want to see him? He swallowed his feelings of chagrin and slight jealousy before coming forward to sit down next to him.

“So resembling a zombie the rest of the day is your definition of cool?” He asked, sounding a little more exasperated than he meant to, “I guess the all-black attire goes with the look then.”

Klaus huffed, rolling his eyes, “Like you can make any judgments with your mediocre sense of fashion: you still wear Daddy’s boarding school uniforms.”

“At least I have clothes to change into,” One reminded with a scowl. Were the uniforms really  _ that _ bad?

“Ah yes, because I had to leave my entire wardrobe in the ’60s,” a sly look crossed his face, “No matter; I’m very good at raiding closets.”

"As long as you stay the hell away from my closet, I don't care what you wear."

Klaus grinned wryly, taking a swig of the bourbon straight from the bottle. "Splendid, I wouldn't be caught dead wearing your clothes anyways."

That looked like his Father's liquor; he was slightly impressed that he managed to sneak it away without anyone noticing. When did he even find time to do that? He disappeared upstairs before dinner and One didn't hear him pick at the lock or anything as he followed him to the courtyard. 

Maybe there was some truth behind being “very good at raiding closets”… 

If Klaus didn't say anything about the drink, he wouldn't either.

"How would you know? You've never even seen me in my regular clothing," he grumbled defensively. Man, Klaus really had a thing for damaging people's pride. Did that make him feel better about himself? Was he secretly self-conscious?

Mischief twinkled in his green eyes, a smirk working its way onto his lips as he scoffed, "Oh trust me, I've got a sixth sense for this sort of thing-"

"I  _ don't _ trust you-"

"Also, what's your obsession with purple underwear? Is that your favorite color or something?"

One's face flushed in embarrassment, demanding angrily, "Did you go through my drawers?!"

Klaus just chuckled, going to take another swig but One snatched the bottle from him.

The man pouted like a child, crossing his arms and huffing dramatically. "Your room used to be the one I shared with my brother."

“Well this isn’t your house!”

“I wanted to see if you had any cigarettes and that’s where I went out of habit,” he rolled his eyes, “ _ Sorry _ that I just lost  _ my _ childhood room  _ yesterday _ -”

“You could have at least asked!”

“And would you have said yes?”

“Well, no but-”

“See? You didn’t even realize it until I said something-”

“It’s the point!” One exclaimed, tossing his hands into the air, “You went into a stranger’s room and invaded their privacy; how do you not see anything wrong with that?”

“It wasn’t a stranger’s room, it was your’s-”

“You don’t know me-”

“But I know Ben and you look and sound exactly like him!” he shouted back but then instantly deflated when he met his eyes. One’s brows were raised, confusion and frustration evident on his face. Klaus looked away. “Well, whatever. My bad.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, One running a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh.

There that name was again:  _ Ben _ . How many times does he have to hear a single name in one day? It was almost like fate was taunting him. A deep scowl reappeared on his face as jealousy reared its ugly head.

Secretly seething, he asked, “Who is Ben?”

Klaus’s jaw clenched; he looked down at his hands with a melancholy smile. “My brother.”

Number One’s anger chastened. He frowned, not wanting to seem pushy but also wanting a little more information on the person Klaus seems to be associated with in nearly every conversation (he was slightly relieved to know that Ben was another sibling and not something… more than that; he wasn’t sure why he cared so much though). 

“Did he not come with you guys?”

Klaus snorted but there was no mirth behind it; he appeared bitter. “No, he’s dead.”

“Oh…”

One wasn’t really sure what to say to that. He shifted uncomfortably, taking a swig from the bourbon bottle with a grimace before nudging Klaus’s side with it. The man took it without a second thought, chugging a couple of mouthfuls before taking a deep breath.

“Yeah…” he said with a sigh, “He was my best friend.”

“What happened to him?” One asked, taking the bottle to have another sip.

Klaus paused, then took back the bottle. “He died on a mission when we were sixteen.”

“Really? Your siblings made it sound like they saw him recently.”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Well yeah, I can summon the dead and he possessed me a couple of times. Then he ended up playing hero and possessed Vanya to save the world.” 

One’s brow furrowed. “And that’s a bad thing?”

Klaus was silent for a few moments, before asking, “Would it be wrong of me to say yes?”

He just studied his face, waiting for him to continue. Klaus probably already knew the answer.

“It was just me and him against the world; life nor death did us part.” The medium chuckled sadly, “He never left my side no matter how fucked up things got, no matter how much we argued. And then he went and gave up his spiritual form to save Vanya, finally going into ‘the light’. We were mad at each other; we never got a chance to make up.”

Klaus downed at least three shots worth, One having to yank it free from his hand before he tried to finish the bottle. 

“I’m sure he had already forgiven you for whatever it was you were fighting over.”

The medium rolled his eyes and said dryly, “Geez, thanks.”

“Were you… mad at him?”

“Does it matter?” His tone sounded defensive as his fingers tapped a beat on his kneecap.

“Well I’ve only known you for a day and I’m already tired of your shit so I can’t imagine what a lifetime with you would be like.”

Klaus glared at him and One rolled his eyes before adding, “With that being said, your brother must have really cared about you if he stuck around that long so stop sulking. I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you.”

The man just looked at him for a while, like he was trying to read his expression. One couldn’t get himself to meet his eyes, watching the moon instead as he drank the last of the bourbon. 

Klaus’s gaze felt like he stared straight through you; like he could see your mind and soul. It made the Horror whirl in his stomach and his skin crawl; it took a lot of willpower to not be tempted by the forest practically calling for his attention. 

After what felt like forever, Klaus finally grimaces and says, “Jesus, that sounded like something Ben would say. Gross.”

One’s face scrunched up in offense and irritation, “Damn, you must really think that you’re God’s gift to Earth, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he grinned cheekily, “Why else would I be banned from heaven?”

One shook his head. He wasn’t even going to question it; for some reason, it made a lot of sense. Alas, that’d be a story for another day. “You’re really something, Cowboy,” he commented with a yawn.

“You ain’t so bad yourself, Birdy.”

One deadpanned, sending him a glare. “Don’t call me that.”

The green eyes lit up again, now devilishly. One’s inner cheek found its way back between his molars. 

“Oh I’m so gonna call you that.”

An annoyed groan escaped him. “Why do you always gotta be so difficult?”

Klaus stood and stretched his arms above his head, his back making a popping noise. Just before he turned around to head back inside, he remarked, “If I was easy, would I be at all interesting?”

One watched him go, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“Oh, and for the record,” the man said, glancing back with a wink as his hand rested on the handle, “purple was Ben’s favorite color too. ‘Night!”

And as the door leading out of the courtyard shut, he could only think about how Klaus left the empty bourbon bottle for him to get rid of. 

* * *

The next month went by about the same as any other with the exception of a few new faces around the house.

The Umbrella Academy kept mostly to themselves, each one of them having brought a crap ton of baggage with them when they came back to 2019.

Diego was trying to track down his time-traveling girlfriend, Allison was grieving the loss of her husband and now daughter, Vanya was holed up in the gallery playing mournful songs on a violin (something about missing her girlfriend?), Five was keeping tabs on the timeline and the anomalies they caused in it, and Klaus was always an elusive presence for a number of reasons. 

Number One actually spent most of his time with Luther (rather begrudgingly if he might add). The half-ape guy was like a lost puppy, always following him around and asking if he needed him to do anything. He tagged along on missions, sometimes helping out, sometimes just watching them neutralize the threat with awestruck eyes. 

He wasn’t really sure what to do about it or how to act so he just tried to be a decent being that acknowledges his presence; One wasn’t much of a talker anyways. Luther didn't seem to mind, he just liked being a part of something.

The only time everyone was together was at dinner; it seems both academies agreed that it was an adequate occasion for socializing and bonding. As soon as Father would leave the table, casual conversation would begin as people told about their days or shared stories of their past. 

Number One never said much at these chats, mainly just listening to his sibling’s stupid questions and the Umbrella posse’s amusing answers. The only time he’d give his own input was when Luther would try unsuccessfully to drag him into a conversation or when… well, when Klaus was there. 

Klaus made the occasional appearance at the dinner table (more frequently as of late), telling outrageous tales about his days as a cult leader or cracking a joke that good-naturedly insulted someone (he tended to have a new victim each time) or putting in his two-cents when no one remembered asking for it. Banter between One and Klaus was a common occurrence; he just couldn’t help but find an excuse to insult him or doubt the truth behind his supposed “memories”. And although some people may have thought that One was bullying him, Klaus would always give a sinister smirk and shoot an insult right back. A few times, they'd resort to chucking stuff at each other because they didn't have a better comeback or they'd sit silently glaring at one another until somebody changed the subject. 

Klaus refused to address One by his name, more often than not just calling him "Birdy" to get his attention. This never failed to annoy him, especially when the others were around, but he soon realized that the medium made it his life’s mission to get on people’s nerves no matter how much they threatened him with bodily harm; the angrier he got, the bigger Klaus’s sadistic grin grew and so the cycle continued.

There was a time when Klaus rendered him speechless (asking him if he had ever fucked himself with the Horrors and if so, was it as good as the hentais made it sound) and Luther thought it’d be appropriate to give an awkward laugh and pat him on the back, saying, “Don’t worry, Birdy, he’s just messing with you.” But with one snarling death glare, it quickly became an unspoken agreement that only Klaus was allowed to address him as so; he’d merely tolerate it from the irritating pain in his ass wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat, but if he ever heard it from Luther’s mouth again… well, let’s just say dinner would be a disconcerting affair with the ape-man seeming to mysteriously vanish from the house- forever. 

But other than the brief greetings as Klaus goes to steal another bottle of liquor from the cabinet and the little-less-than-chaotic discussions at the dinner table, Number One didn’t see much of the medium. He spent a majority of his time in the guest bedroom he was assigned and what exactly he was always doing in there, One had no idea. Some said that he sleeps all day, others say that he’s drinking away his problem; Diego once said, as they sat together eating breakfast, that Klaus just really values his alone time because too many people and voices stress him out, that he has been that way since they were kids and Ben was the only one who could manage to get him out of bed some days. The bitter taste of envy bubbled in Number One’s mouth at the admission, once again being reminded that Klaus’s beloved brother was gone and filling the void his absence left behind would be no easy feat. 

It felt strange to be jealous of a dead man, a dead man he has never once met and knew barely anything about, but nothing about Klaus or the Umbrella Academy was normal so One will just say that their dysfunctional-ness was rubbing off on him.

It wasn't that he hated Ben (it was hard to feel such a strong emotion towards someone that was never spoken illy of), he just felt... intimidated? 

Damn, when did he ever become such a softy? 

The mighty Number One: rendered an uncharacteristically insecure and possessive portal to Eldritch creatures by one man that he has never met and the bond with a brother that he rejected his ticket to the afterlife for. 

He couldn't compete with Ben; he could never be as selfless and brave and kind and good as Ben. He could never be what Ben was to Klaus. He could never erase the lifetime of memories they formed together. He could never get Klaus to forget the pain of losing a loved one (for good this time). 

And the thought that he couldn’t do anything but remain in Ben’s shadow made him resentful; he had a short-temper, sue him.


	3. Breathe Me to Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One squirmed in his seat at the intensity of the atmosphere, every particle that he breathed in seemed to take four more out with it. There was a spark of something that shot through his body at the thought that he was suffocating again; there was no way he was going to be the only one to suffer from the charged air between them.  
> He removed the hand from his face and leaned towards him slightly with a small smirk, “Or I might have to choke you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late update! I got super busy this week and found it really hard to write something I was proud of while running off of less than 5 hours of sleep every night.  
> Hope you enjoy, things get a little angsty before they get spicy.

It was mid-afternoon as Number One entered the kitchen to help Allison make lunch for everyone. They decided on sandwiches today; it was hard to mess up and required minimal effort (they were not, by any means, talented cooks).

They worked in mainly silence, Allison humming every now and then as she bustled around him to grab something. She made quick work of lunch, finishing ten before One had even started his fourth. 

He glowered down at the sandwiches as she smirked at the lousy pile. 

"Is that… jelly and mustard?" She asked with a wrinkle of her nose. 

"I-" he closed his mouth, frowned, and then tried again, "Yes, yes it is."

"Why-"

"I don't know. Shut up."

Allison snickered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Give it to Luther and say that you made it for him. He'll eat it, trust me."

One huffed, a twinge of a smile on his lips. "You're cruel, woman."

She winked deviously.

The sandwiches were taken from his spot on the counter, Allison piling them up onto a single plate before turning to leave like a waitress carrying out an ordered meal. But as she stepped foot into the other room, she paused and said, "Speaking of cruel, have you seen Klaus today?"

One frowned at her, not enjoying the reminder that the last time Klaus's face appeared was at dinner the day before yesterday. And with his absence, came an awakening of pestering thoughts regarding Ben. He began to loathe the name, not the person behind it. He began to loathe thoughts of memories the other's shared with Ben that he could never recreate. Perhaps, he loathed himself for supposedly having the man's face, voice, and powers but quite blatantly not his heart. 

"No," he replied coldly, "Why would I have?"

Allison pursed her lips in an evaluating manner, like she was able to hear the million and one thoughts reverberating through his skull. 

"I don't know, you guys seem close so I thought maybe you'd-"

"Close? With that dumbass?" He questioned, his embarrassment translating into hostility, "He's a grown man; I don't care what he does. If he wants to stay in his room all day and flake out on us at dinner time, that's on him."

Allison's eyebrows raised, clearly not buying his act of indifference. But being a trained actor had its perks, like right now when she tried to take on a distressed look. "I see. Forget I asked then."

She then turned around hurriedly, away from the stairs (where One previously assumed she was going to) and swiftly making her way to the courtyard where some of the others were training. 

Number One tried to hold his facade of apathetic-ness but ultimately failed, clenching his jaw tightly as he followed her outside. As she began passing out lunch to everyone, he pulled her aside and quietly asked, "Is there a specific reason why you asked?"

She appeared pleased with herself.

One was losing his patience, inquiring a little more gravelly, "Is something wrong with him?"

The woman crossed her arms with a sigh. "It's good for Klaus to stay busy; he needs something to keep him occupied so he isn't tempted to fall back into his self-destructive habits… I can't imagine that he's using again after gaining so much control over his powers but… I never know with him…"

So Klaus used to do drugs… interesting. What made him start? What made him stop? One had a feeling that both answers revolved around a particular dead brother. 

"So the drinking… has it always been..?"

She shook her head. "That's a more recent occurrence. I bet you can guess why."

_ Ben,  _ His mind supplied.  _ Fuck you, mind _ . 

"I see…" he muttered.

Allison then smirked and lowered her voice a little bit as she commented, "Your tough guy act may fool the others, but I know there's something going on between you two. You obviously care."

One tried his best to make a face of disgust as his heart thumped a little quicker. "Sorry to crush your dreams but there's no way I'd ever get with… whatever that man is."

"Who said anything about 'getting with one another'?" She cocked a brow, "I could have meant a friendship or brotherly bond."

He scowled at the trick, his face heating up as he glares at her. "Well whatever," he grumbled weakly, "At least we weren't raised as siblings like you and Luther."

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, yes; deflect it on me to divert the attention away from you. Typical Hargreeves argument strategy. What's next, you're gonna hit me?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is that rumors are my specialty," she then gives a charming grin that only enhances the impish twinkle to her brown irises, "and I've seen the way you practically undress him with your eyes."

The man scoffed indignantly, his face blooming an even deeper shade of red. "I-I do not! Why would I ever- Klaus i-is- You’re delusional!"

"Denying it is only going to make you feel worse," she chided motherly, "Who knows, maybe you choking him on the first day you guys met got him hooked too; he's uncomfortably into that. But it's only a rumor, I suppose." 

He thinks about those green eyes. He thinks about those pink parted lips. He thinks about the suffocating heat that radiated from his gaze and dripped from his words.

_ “You gotta press a lot harder than that if you wanna get me going, Birdy-”  _

He shakes his head vehemently, banishing the memory before he could embarrass himself any further.

"T-That's not- H-He doesn't-!"

"Aw look at you: getting all flustered,” she cooed but then there was a reminiscent look that crossed her face, the sharp edges of her smile softening.

“What? What’s that face for?” 

“Sorry, you just… You really looked like Ben right there. It reminded me of when I used to tease him when we were younger…”

He frowned deeply, crossing his arms over his chest at the dreadful sinking feeling that consumed him. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he admitted, “I’m just… not your brother.”

She shook it off quickly, her eyes assuring in a way. But then she ruined it by saying suggestively, “I know. And Klaus knows too, ya know.” She winked.

Any weight in his chest was lifted in a mere second as frustration erupted across his face again, the accompanying blush not far behind.

“I hate you,” he hissed in annoyance, stomping off to go find his father. Maybe if he had a mission or something, he could stop thinking about all these stupid people and their pointless interests and dead brothers of intriguing men and maybe he wouldn’t feel so god damn ruffled at literally everything that came out of that woman’s mouth!

Allison laughed. “Maybe you should go check on him!” she called, watching him leave in amusement.

“No!” he hollered back, “Not in a million years!”

“Please  _ Birdy _ ?”

“Go choke on an umbrella!”

* * *

No, not in a million years… yet here he is: standing outside of Klaus’s door, not really sure why he couldn’t get himself to knock. 

But like… why should he knock? This is his house, right? This is a guest room, not  _ Klaus’s  _ room. It is being  _ borrowed,  _ not  _ owned. _ He could walk right in and no one could stop him; what is even  _ still _ doing out here? Why does he feel so blood-boiling-ly awkward?

Was Klaus even in there? He could have disappeared and no one would have even noticed-

There’s a soft thump from the other side of the door. 

One bites his inner cheek. His curiosity, oh his curiosity… He steels himself before throwing the door open and walking straight into the room.

“Get up.”

There’s a sigh and shifting of covers as Klaus burrows further into his blankets and turns on his side to face the wall. 

“Come on, dumbass. I’m serious, get up.”

The man doesn’t budge, choosing to just huff instead.

“Cowboy, I swear-”

“Visiting hours are between six and seven pm on the second Tuesday of every week-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Number One exasperated, strolling forward to glare down at the lump on the bed, “It’s not fair that everybody else has to do things around here while you and your lazy ass hides from any damn responsibility.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Klaus hissed, “It’s not like they need me for anything anyways- They could all do it themselves; hell, I bet they could do it five times better than I could! Also, you have such a nasty potty mouth; did you know that?”

One looked unamused. “So what? You’re just gonna lay in bed and wallow in self-pity?”

The man’s shoulders hunched a little bit as a small, “No, I’m gonna lay in bed and wallow in content that my family is safe,” came from him. 

“That’s not good enough; just get up,” One says, attempting to tug off the blanket as Klaus lets out a gasp.

“Birdy, you pervert! What if I’m naked under here?”

One blinks and immediately lets go, taking a step back from the bed as he desperately tries not to think about the sight that could greet him. “A-Are you…?” he mumbled, watching the blanket warily with wide eyes.  _ Green irises, pink lips, lean chest, sharp hips- _

“No,” Klaus snorts, “But you should have seen your face.”

Ah, deflection; Allison was right. Too bad he doesn’t have the patience to appear amused.

“Is this some kind of game to you?” One demanded angrily, “Your family is worried-”

“It’s for the best.”

He glowered. “You free-loading asshole! What you’re doing is selfish.”

“No, it’s  _ selfless _ . They are safer this way.”

“Safer from what?”

Klaus snaps, “From me!” before deflating in preference of becoming one with the covers than to get mad.

Number One sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair. He sits on the edge of the bed and stares at Klaus expectantly. Is this really the only way he’s ever going to get information out of him? 

“They all lost something or  _ someone _ , you know…” Klaus mumbles, a bitter smile on his face.

__ “Yeah,” he replies solemnly, “I know.”

“It has become apparent that I can’t have nice things; I’m not allowed to have so much as  _ one _ special person in my life. Death kind of follows me; the more I care, the quicker they are gone.”

“Death follows everybody; that’s just how life is. Losing is part of growing just like pain is part of becoming stronger-” 

“Well, I lost, they lost… yet, they seem to be handling it so-  _ so  _ much better.” He seems to choke on his next words but then he huffs a painfully dry laugh. “And we belong in this time period- maybe not this timeline…- but at least it’s 2019 and everybody is alive and the apocalypse is over and we’re all together again. Everybody’s  _ happy,  _ we should all be  _ happy. _ ”

One frowns, trying to catch the heavy implication hidden within his words. “But you’re… not.”

Klaus’s grin widens, almost crazed with too many teeth showing. “Ding ding ding! And if I’m sad then I’d just bring them down and then we’ll _all_ be sad because we are remembering not healing and we shouldn’t be sad, we should be _happy_ because it’s _over_ ; we finally did it.” His back straightens. “So it’s just _hilariously_ ironic, so fucking _hysterically gut-bustingly funny_ that I kind of wish I was back in the 1960s. Hell, I was honestly happier when it was just me and Benny for the first three years! I traveled the world! I had a mansion, money, a rather annoying cult; I was thought to be a mighty prophet! But none of that stuff even mattered because I had Ben and Dave: both at my fingertips, both so very close on multiple occurrences and now forever out of my reach. Zip, nada, gone, poof.”

Dave? That’s a new one. Who’s Da- the dog tags. The fucking dog tags. Did they read Dave? Was Klaus in war with Dave? He peeks over Klaus’s shoulder, seeing the name  _ David Katz  _ in shining engraved letters.  _ Damn it.  _ What was he to Klaus? Obviously someone important if Klaus is holding on to the tags. How many more people is in this man’s life that he doesn’t know about-

Klaus sits up suddenly and One startles a bit, meeting his eyes. “You ever feel like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff but you can’t see the bottom? So then you’re given two options: you can either turn around and walk away or you can just risk it all and jump to find out what the hell is down there.”

One waits for him to continue as he gives a slight nod, watching the medium quizzically.

“But you’re a coward that’s intimidated by that which you cannot control so you just continue walking away, walking away, walking away… but you keep finding yourself back at the edge. So what do you do?”

Some understanding flashes across One’s face. “You take the leap-”

“You take the leap!” Klaus agrees all too enthusiastically with a rapid gesture of hands, his eyes containing a wild gleam, “And you know what I did?”

“Uh-”

“The exact opposite! I walked away over and over and over; so many times that I purposefully started going in the opposite direction of where I was supposed to just so I wouldn't have to find myself back there and you know what happened?”

“What happened?” One asked with a look akin to pity.

“I got so caught up in my stubborn shit that I can’t get back now! I’m fucking lost and in the complete and utter unknown. And guess what else?”

“Hm?”

His hands fly through the air as he faux cheers, “The cliff is nowhere in sight!”

One doesn’t say anything and Klaus presses his tattooed palms to his face.

The medium sighs and One can now truly see how tired the man is. 

“Geez,” Klaus giggles mirthlessly before muttering mostly to himself, “What the hell am I doing: opening up to a stranger like this? I poured all that on you, you should have stopped me, I barely know you; like you would care about my problems, am I right? Ha… I’m so frickin stupid.”

The words are said lightly but they feel like a slap to the face.

He says hesitantly, “Then why did you?”

Klaus looked at him for a few moments before giving a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel comfortable around you for some reason. Perhaps it’s the face… maybe the voice. Your presence just has a sense of familiarity in this whack-job life I live in.”

An even greater slap. One almost flinches,  _ almost.  _ The words sting a place deep inside him; the loathing of himself bloomed. Was it easy for Klaus to close his eyes and pretend he was Ben? Was it easy to imagine that in a perfect little world, it was Number One that vanished and Ben that was alive? Does Klaus even like him for  _ him _ and not because he just  _ reminds _ him of Ben? Where would Number One even stand with the Umbrella Academy if he didn’t look like their dead brother?

He feels crushed, he feels acrid. What was wrong with _him_? Why is _he_ not good enough?

He thinks bleakly,  _ So am I part of the remembering or the healing _ ?

But he shakes it off. He shakes off the self-pitying, he shakes off the envy. This isn’t about him; it’s about Klaus. He can brood later.

So, wordlessly, he grabs the cocoon of blankets and stands, bringing the bundle with him. Klaus squeaks in shock before he is dropped on the floor in a messy pile of fabric and limbs.

Number One stands over him, the faintest of simpers playing on his lips at the man’s flabbergasted olive eyes and uncharacteristically speechless mouth. 

He swallows roughly as his gaze catches on Klaus’s three-sizes-too-big shirt that was hanging loosely from his shoulder; it looked awfully familiar, maybe Luther’s or Diego’s? The man wasn’t kidding about stealing clothes then, huh?

If Klaus was, perhaps, given clothes… would he wear them out of convenience? He was very stubborn, yes, but also lazy; all One knows is that the idea of Klaus laying in bed wearing nothing but briefs and one of  _ his _ shirts (and  _ knowing  _ it) was all too tantalizing to stare for a moment longer.

One clenches his jaw and meets Klaus’s questioning eyes as he says in his most authoritative leader-like voice, “Get dressed and get in the black Subaru out front.”

“Wh-”

“If you’re not there in ten minutes, it’ll be the Horror picking you up next-” 

“But-”

“-and you’ll be dropped out the window instead.”

Klaus just blinked at him so Number One took that as his cue to leave.

* * *

His fingers drum on his knee cap as he waits in the car. It has been five minutes already and Klaus still hasn’t left the house. Is he even coming? Was he just trying to get him to leave? Did he catch his bluff? Does he think that One is a joke?

“Dropping him out the window?” The man disbelievingly whispered to himself, “There’s not even a window in that room; the Horrors would just splat him against the wall!”

_ You’re fucking brilliant, Number One. Real brilliant…  _ He rolled his eyes and smacked his forehead against the steering wheel. 

Seven minutes.

“Why would he even want to come with you?” Smack. “He’s probably laughing at you.” Smack. “You picked him up and dropped him on the floor. What if you hurt him?” Smack. “You were fucking staring at him in his underwear.” Smack. “You almost popped a boner just looking into his stupid green eyes with that stupid shirt hanging off his stupid perfect shoulder.” Smack. “Shit! Allison is right: I do undress him with my eyes!” Smack. Smack. Smack-

Honk!

One jumps at the blaring sound of his horn, straightening in his seat in an attempt to compose himself. Right before he dares to look at the clock, he hears the passenger door open and an exasperated, “I was coming, geez. Pushy much?”

Number One just blinked at him dumbly. “Huh?”

“You honking at me because I wasn’t moving to your ‘liking’; quite rude I might add.”

“Oh- Oh! Well yeah uh- you were walking at the speed of molasses,” he covered up sheepishly.  _ Yes, because I totally meant to do that on purpose.  _ “We’re on a schedule here; I can’t have you wasting my time.”

“Well if you expect me to run, good luck scraping my broken body off the concrete; I’d rather have your tentacles throw me out the window,” Klaus grumbles putting on his seatbelt before crossing his arms.

One starts the car, a pleased glint to his dark irises. 

Klaus scrunches his nose at the expression, turning his head to glare out the window. “Just saying, I only came so your big boy leader ego wouldn’t be crushed. Threatening me with your sucker-cupped friends? Really?” He scoffs, “You say it like the thought of them picking me up off the bed isn’t a major turn-on.”

Number One chokes on his spit a little, his face blazing as he lets out a small grunt.

“T-There’s seriously something wrong with you.”

“Oh please,” the man says doubtfully as he rolls his eyes, “Like you and your virgin mind has never had a fantasy that screams all sorts of wrong.”

One didn’t want to think about it, especially not while he was driving; especially not while Klaus was sitting there right next to him.

“Wha- Why are we even talking about this?!”

“Ice-breakers, duh. It was getting kind of awkward.”

“This is so NOT an ice-breaker!”

Klaus frowns and flashes him a disinterested look, “Do I even want to know what kind of ice-breakers you ask?”

One spares him a flustered glance before returning to the road. “ _ How was your day? What are your hobbies? Do you like cats? _ You know, NORMAL stuff; NOT... whatever the hell that was!”

A suffocating silence settles between them for at least a minute, One feeling that forest calling for his attention; or maybe the suffocation was from the smoke that seemed to billow from the wildfire alit in Klaus’s eyes as he burned holes through his very soul in search of something below the protective layers of face value.

He doesn’t want to look at him. He doesn’t need to look at him. He  _ couldn’t  _ look at him or else he wouldn’t be able to tear away from the gaze; somebody needed to drive, somebody  _ needed  _ to stare at the street.

“We really need to work on your people skills,” Klaus finally chides pitifully, “You’re never gonna get laid if you're about as interesting as a brick wall- actually I take that back: walls are pretty fun if you know how to pin and get pinned.”

One opens his mouth and then closes it, words temporarily failing him.

“You are about at interesting as Reginald is a good father-”

“Hey,” he warned with a frown, “He may not be the most compassionate, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad father.”

Klaus snorts, devoid of humor, “Well aren’t you the little optimist; Daddy’s naive right-hand man. Your position on the favorites chart comes with the name, I suppose.”

“It’s not just because I’m Number One-”

“Well our wonderful _ special training days  _ were a luxury Luther rarely got to experience as well-”

“I’ve had them plenty of times; they aren’t unbearable. They are supposed to be difficult to make us stronger-”

“They were difficult to make us  _ fear  _ him-”

“They were an opportunity for growing and improving-”

“They were  _ traumatizing _ ,” Klaus says venomously, a rare sense of seriousness adorning his normally flippant features.

One’s inquisitiveness overcame him before he really thought about the boundary he was probably crossing. He asked, “How so?”

“There’s a  _ thick _ line between disciplining and abusing yet Reggie never saw it even with that hideous monocle; or, perhaps, he chose to overlook it.”

“I don’t think-”

“Tell me: have you ever spoken until you tasted the blood coating your raw throat during one of your  _ special  _ training sessions?”

“... No-”

“Have you ever spent hours in the shower scrubbing off every last bit of gore that all the animals you were told to kill left behind?”

“Well, I mean-”

“Have you ever had a knife thrown at your head and was told to curve it before it hit you?”

“Of course not-”

“Have you ever been trapped inside a sound-proof room with spikes on the wall because you were thought to be too dangerous to be let out?”

“Why would-”

“Have you ever been sent to the moon because there was, supposedly, nothing better for you to do?”

“Ok, no, I get it-”

“Have you ever sat in a dark, cold, and haunted room wondering what sort of horrendous deed you must have committed for fate to hate you so much that she had your very own  _ father _ lock you in there with your worst nightmares for  _ hours _ ?”

This question seemed a little more sensitive than the others, a little more raw and personal; he knew that this one wasn’t a rhetorical reflecting how much his siblings suffered, it was a memory… and it has stuck with Klaus ever since. One sees their destination and pulls over; turning off the car before facing the medium.

He inquired softly, “And what is your worst nightmare?”

Klaus blinks and then smiles, amusement dancing in his eyes like fairies (both alluring yet heedful). “Now  _ that’s _ an ice-breaker,” he praised, shoving One’s shoulder playfully. 

One’s lips twitch at the gesture before raising an eyebrow, “Well?”

“I’ll tell you under one condition,” Klaus hummed, a coy look on his face.

“What is it?”

“You gotta wear normal clothes whenever we hang out in the future,” the man stared at One’s uniform with a wrinkled nose and mock-gagged, “I thought pants would make the uniforms better but no: they are so, SO much worse. Ugh, what even are you? A thirty-year-old private school snob?”

One scowled at him; Klaus was never going to let the uniform go, was he?

“Alright, fine, but just because I’m tired of hearing your annoying ass complain about it.”

Klaus clapped his hands together with a grin. “Splendid. Now, my worst nightmare is drowning.”

Number One had to do a double-take, completely caught off guard. “Come again?” He wanted to make sure his ears weren’t deceiving him.

“My nightmare is drowning-”

“But then how-”

“-in a sea of lost souls that know quite well that they’ll never need to stop screaming for air.”

“Oh… That makes a little more sense.”

"Yeah."

Awkward pause. Klaus is fiddling with his hands as they rest in his lap, One uncomfortably watching him.

And then he blurts out, "Well this time there's a lifeguard on duty."

Klaus’s brow furrows slightly but the grin widens and becomes a little more genuine and then he’s laughing and One sinks a little further in his seat as embarrassment consumes him. Why the hell did he say that? He felt so stupid. It sounded better in his head; it just came out as thoughts about drowning and trying to be assuring swirled through his mind. The medium made him feel so jumbled sometimes.

“Please forget I said anything, that was unbelievably cheesy-”

“Lucky for you, Birdy, I’m not laughtose intolerant.”

One’s nose wrinkles as he huffs, “Don’t call me that; just stop opening your mouth.” The  _ or else I might do something even more stupid  _ was left unsaid. 

“No can do, buckaroo-”

“It was stupid and-”

“It was adorable, super dorky... but adorable," Klaus said endearingly with a shake of his head, "My lifeguard in shining armor~"

Number One ran a hand down in his face in exasperation, “Shut up,” he muttered flusteredly.

“Or what?”

His heart leaped to his throat as he peeked at Klaus from behind his fingers. The man was watching his reaction with a daring tilt of his chin and eyes narrowed in a roguish manner. One squirmed in his seat at the intensity of the atmosphere, every particle that he breathed in seemed to take four more out with it. There was a spark of something that shot through his body at the thought that he was suffocating again; there was no way he was going to be the only one to suffer from the charged air between them. 

He removed the hand from his face and leaned towards him slightly with a small smirk, “Or I might have to choke you again.”

He should have known better than to expect anything less than the sly look that fell over Klaus’s expression as he leaned forward with half-lidded eyes, stopping a mere inch from his face; “Who’s to say,” the medium breathed upon his lips, “that I’d let you?”

Number One faltered, his mask of bravado slipping briefly before he muttered, “You don’t seem like the type to turn down such an offer.”

Klaus smiled. “Maybe if you sweetened the deal; you know, throw in a little-”

“Bit of the tentacles from my stomach into the mix?”

“Or the tentacle in your school-boy pants would do, too; hypothetically speaking of course. But besides that, I was going to say you could buy me some breakfast.”

One turned scarlet, his irises dark and cloudy; he noticed Klaus glance down at his mouth succinctly before a deep olive clashed with warm pools of honey. He didn’t realize that he was holding his breath as Klaus seemed to study him with a profound cognizance of this unspoken tensity settled between them. The medium was waiting for something, testing him; One wasn’t sure how far was too far, he wasn’t sure if giving into his temptation was going to be the best or the worst decision of his life. It would change everything and honestly, with those dog tags hanging around the man’s neck and a tongue that was always so eager to roll off the name of his dead brother, doubt and the fear of rejection were a great enough incentive to refrain him from claiming those thin, pink lips.

His skin crawled, frustration seeping into his tone, “Wow, you really are a slut.”

Klaus huffed a laugh, the air tickling One’s face. He replied with a wink, “And a sexy one, too.”

“These are dangerous waters you’re playing in, Cowboy. Don’t forget that I could easily kill you.”

“Good thing you’re a lifeguard, huh Birdy?”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that-”

Klaus’s gaze darkened, the previous playfulness vanishing. He said, “And I thought I told you that I fear drowning in the dead yet you brought me to a graveyard.”

One froze, feeling the static energy radiating around them pop like a balloon as Klaus leaned back in his seat and glared out the windshield.  _ That came out of nowhere; did he just now notice? _

He was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing uselessly a few times before he dejectedly returned to his normal sitting position as well. “Dad gave me a list of cold-cases to look through; I saw this one and thought that the easiest thing to do would be having you talk to the victim.”

Klaus didn’t seem to like that answer,  _ at all,  _ from the way his lip curled and his gaze turned cold as it detachedly stared upon the lackluster graves in front of them. “You brought me out here to  _ use _ me for my powers,” he stated slowly, grimly, “because dear old Dad gave you some mediocre  _ assignment  _ to pass the time?”

One frowned, an odd sense of apprehension washing over him. He didn’t mean to upset the man; he truly didn’t think he would react like this. He had only wanted to share one of his favorite avocations with him, to get to know more about him and spend time with him away from the others. He was confused; he wasn’t really  _ using  _ him. He wouldn’t force Klaus to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with. “I don’t see what the problem is; you normally talk to the dead right?”

“You think I like to? You didn’t even ask if I-” he shivered suddenly, his eyes darting to different things in the graveyard, “w-was comfortable doing this.”

Number One steeled himself, saying firmly, “I won’t let anything happen to you; I promise.”

Klaus chuckled bitterly, “Idiot, don’t promise that; you can’t even see them…”

“But you can. And if you feel you’re in danger, just give me the word and we’ll leave; no questions asked.”

“And what if they possess me?” Klaus questioned, his eyes wide with dread, “What will you do then?”

Despite being caught off guard by the really important question, One swallowed his nerves and said, “I’ll punch you so hard in the face that the ghost will be knocked right out.”

The man’s eyebrows rose in doubt but the slightest bit of a nervous smile quivered his lips.

For good measure, One adds, “And then I’ll buy you breakfast as an apology.”

“Waffles with extra whipped cream?” Klaus inquires weakly.

He nods, “Whatever you want.”

They sat in silence for a few more moments, Klaus fidgeting with the door handle.

“As soon as I want to leave… No questions asked?”

“Not a single one,” One confirms unwaveringly.

The man sighs. “Well let's get this over with then.” Klaus unbuckles and opens the passenger side.

One couldn’t stop the small smile from spreading on his lips.

Klaus crossed his arms. “For the record: I’m doing this for the waffles because screw you.”

He shrugs his shoulders; he’ll take what he can get. Lord knows Klaus could have said a lot worse. “Oh by the way,” One said, drawing the medium's attention, “How good is your Welsh?”

Klaus deadpanned, a look of exhaustion and irritation flashing through his green eyes. “Rydych chi'n ast bosy yn union fel fy mrawd.”

Number One had no idea what he said, but he assumed that it was pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One: How good is your Welsh?
> 
> Klaus: You are a bossy bitch just like my brother.


	4. Love Me in Bardo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time he tries to resurface, somebody reiterates the name that loops a noose around his neck and yanks him back down to the depths of his conscious where he just sits and festers with thoughts all too dark for his liking. Does One even exist? Or is he just a reflection of Ben?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... five chapters now, huh? "What the heck author why you trolling us like this?" Well, I was planning out the next big scene and the ending and I realized they didn't really fit with the theme of this chapter so surprise! There are five chapters now!  
> ~Enjoy

It was silent as the two men sat at a table in a small diner. 

Number One had his hands folded together, pressing his fists to his mouth as he leaned forward on his elbows. He felt like he should say something but none of the sentences that drifted through his mind seemed like the right thing to utter at the moment. There was a good chance Klaus would just ignore him anyways; he wasn’t in the best mood as of now. Well, not that One could really blame him.

He was looking at Klaus, well more at the nasty purple lump on the side of his face; the medium was absently staring out the window, his hand holding a napkin full of ice cubes to the bruising. His gaze was fixed with a permanent glare, his green eyes boring holes through the glass; One was only slightly grateful that he refused to look at him. (Call him a coward but if looks could kill, well…) 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Klaus stated dryly, his face still turned away from him.

“I said I was sorry…” One mumbled in reply.

The medium’s eyes just subtly narrowed.

He did feel sort of bad, but he wouldn’t say that it was entirely his fault either. It’s not everyday that you see a man speaking Welsh to seemingly thin air and then he suddenly jumps up and starts quoting Shakespeare in French. One had panicked and, true to his word, swung his fist. It had collided with Klaus’s temple and the man had just let out a small wheeze before turning on him so quickly to shout, _“What the Christ on a cracker was that for?!”_ (Was it wrong that he glanced at his fist in confusion momentarily, unsure of how Klaus was still standing after such a blow…? He really had become soft, huh?)

One had just stared at him in shock before a hand had slapped over his mouth in realization, _“Fuck, you weren’t-”_

_“Hell no! Frickin’ maniac! Mon beau visage est ruiné!”_

_“I thought-”_

The man had scoffed, his hands shimmering a dull blue, _“Talk to him yourself. I’ll be waiting in the car.”_

_“But I don’t speak Welsh-”_

_“Well figure it out, poderoso Número Uno. That’s no longer my problem.”_

_“Wait Klaus-”_

_“Bye!”_

“You said 'Hell is empty and all the devils are here'. You got to admit that’s a little spooky sounding. What was I supposed to think?"

Klaus's lips pursed but he remained stubbornly quiet. 

"It was completely out of the blue and took me by surprise and I just acted without thinking."

The man almost rolled his eyes. 

"You are overreacting just a bit, don’t you think?”

Klaus hissed quietly.

“It could have been worse. At least it wasn't the Horrors… right? Or you actually being possessed," he tried to reason but he was kind of just rambling at this point in a hope to get some sort of reaction out Klaus. 

Before he could say anymore, the waitress came with their food, placing a plate of plain pancakes in front of him and a plate of waffles smothered in whipped cream on the other side of the table. 

Klaus stiffened but his glare relented as he caught a whiff of his food. 

"I didn't know how many you wanted I so just got you tw-"

"What are you doing?"

One looked up in surprise, the hand holding the red squeeze-bottle pausing mid-action.

"What?"

Klaus's eyes widened in horror, "What are you doing?!"

"Eating pancakes…?"

"With ketchup?!"

His brow furrowed. "... Yeah? Is that a problem?"

Klaus finally meets his eyes, looking at him in bewilderment and slight disgust. "Not only did you order the inferior breakfast but you're gonna eat it with _ketchup?_ What the hell is wrong with you?"

Number One frowned, looking down at his plate. "When I was little, I hated the taste of eggs so whenever Grace gave me a plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes for breakfast, I'd ask her to cover them in ketchup. Eventually, I just got used to eating all of those things with the lingering taste of it; it's sentimental now, I don't like pancakes without it."

After he didn’t hear an immediate response from the man, he raised his gaze to see Klaus looking at him in doleful reminiscence. He didn’t like that look; not at all. It made his heart seize and his eyes darken; he recognized the expression from a mile away and knew exactly what kind of conversation was sure to entail. 

His body was eclipsed by shadow, Ben’s shadow. Forever and always. Ben is a part of him, a part he will never know; he is trapped in Ben’s body with chains holding him down and lost memories sealing him in. Every time he tries to resurface, somebody reiterates the name that loops a noose around his neck and yanks him back down to the depths of his conscious where he just sits and festers with thoughts all too dark for his liking. Does One even exist? Or is he just a reflection of Ben? Is he a reincarnation, perhaps? Or are Ben and One two completely separate people? He would like to think so but being surrounded by people who knew only Ben, not _him,_ makes him question who _he_ really is. Does everybody think they’re the same person? But if they are, why isn’t One like him? Why doesn’t he know these people like Ben did? No, they are not the same; they aren’t. They can’t be. Ben’s the past, One is the present. He exists while Ben no longer does. He’s not Ben, he’s not he’s not he’s not. 

He swallowed.

_Don’t look at me like that._

He asked reluctantly, “What is it?” 

_Don’t think about him._

Klaus shakes his head, just like Allison did. 

_Don’t say it._

“There were a few years when we first started special training,” he began.

_Don't compare us._

"-where Benny wanted to become a vegetarian."

_Stop._

"And Reginald told him that if he didn't eat everything on his plate, he'd have to eat it all covered in ketchup to look like the blood from his victims. We were stuck at the dinner table for three hours, watching Ben eat the whole plate of ketchup covered food-"

_It wasn’t me._

"-and he cried every bite. He never ate anything with ketchup ever again. Yet, you love the stuff.”

_Because I’m not him._

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? You’re both so similar but-”

Number One seethed, “There is nothing similar about us.” His knuckles turned white around the bottle. “I’m not your brother, I will never be your brother!”

Klaus flinched, his eyes widening, and immediately One wanted to take back what he said. But he couldn't, an invisible dam holding back his envious thoughts was broken and words kept flowing from his mouth like vomit no matter how much they stung him.

"I am me; there is nobody else out there like me. Stop pretending that I’m a lackluster version of Ben, stop making me guilty for _not_ being him. I’ve been trying, _so hard,_ to be what you want from me but I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t be what Ben was to you, ok? So just stop comparing us! I could be so… so much more than just a doppelganger of your brother if you just let me! See me for who I _am_ , not who your brother _was._ ”

Klaus looked stunned, his mouth opening and closing a few times, guilt and confusion etched across his face. One wanted to kick himself; he should have just brushed it off, swept it under the rug. But he couldn’t, not again; he couldn't withstand being subjected to such a gaze again. He was tired of it, it was eating away at him. Why does everybody always look at him with such sadness, such longing; but not sadness for him, sadness for Ben. Not longing for him, longing for Ben. Why couldn’t Klaus smile when he sees him? It was tormenting.

He buries his face in his hands with a sigh, wanting to hide his shame. It’s not like any of them were doing it on purpose; they were just grieving. 

“I- You’re not Ben; I know that.” 

One looks up, seeing Klaus’s brow furrowed in thought. 

“I didn’t realize I was making you feel like that… I just thought-” he stops and shakes his head, dismissing that sentence with a sad smile. He looks down at his hands and fiddles with the dog tags. He mumbles mostly to himself, “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m meddling with people’s lives, trying to wheedle my way into minds that aren’t supposed to remember me. Why can’t I just let people go? Why do I always push myself on them and consequently ruin their lives?”

One quietly watches Klaus take the dog tags off, an anguished expression flashing through green eyes. “I just wanted to save him but I ended up killing him even sooner. I just wanted the one constant person in my life to stay with me and nobody else because if everybody could see him, he wouldn’t need me anymore; I would only be a messenger for them if they knew he was there. And they both hate me now, they both can’t hear me apologize.”

He flattens his hands against the table, determination steeling his features as a sudden draft whipped through the room. One found himself unable to look away from the intensity in Klaus’s gaze. 

“But you can so I’ll say it right now before it’s too late. I’ll say it right now before the little brat upstairs rips another person from my life.” He presses his hands together in a praying manner, his pointer fingers pressed against his lips, and the dog tags and ice forgotten on the table. Klaus looks abnormally sincere, for the first time since One met him, and it makes him lower his hands to give the medium his full attention. 

“I’m sorry. Truly sorry. You may not be our Ben but that doesn’t make you a bad person or any less special than him.”

One opens his mouth to speak but Klaus cuts him off. “Being able to communicate with the dead prevented me from ever experiencing grief and mourning; I’ve never had to let go and move on from people, I’ve never had to accept that I’ll never see them again. The first stage of grief is denial, right?”

One nods, a fluttering feeling in his chest.

“Seeing your face has made it easier to deny that Ben is gone. But that’s not fair to you, I don’t want to _use_ you like that. You’re important to me, just as much as the others; you’ve punched me in the face for crying out loud, you’ve passed the initiation! Yay!” He faux cheers and gives One a dithered smile, like he wasn’t sure whether his apology and wry humor were appropriate or not.

He’ll take the attempt as Klaus trying his best; it seemed that sincerity and earnestness were foreign to the medium, relying on humor and deflection to get him out of heavy situations. Number One was grateful for it; apologies and heart-to-hearts were never really his thing either.

He raises a brow and teases, “There’s an ‘I’ve hit Klaus’ club?”

The medium’s body relaxes and relief fills his green eyes; this was familiar territory for both of them. “Well of course there is,” Klaus folds his hands beneath his chin and adds cheekily, “I’ve got such a bang-able body, you know.”

One shifts, crossing his legs and placing a hand to his chin as he leans on his elbow as well. He couldn’t really deny the fact. He hums, “Hm if you say so.”

Klaus juts out his lower lip in a pout and One’s eyes are immediately drawn to the subtle indents left behind from the medium undoubtedly nibbling there.

“You’d be surprised; I honestly get hit a lot.”

“Oh yeah?” The Asian’s upper lids lowered subtly, an easy but sarcastic smile on his face, “I can’t imagine why. The club must be pretty hard to get into with an angelic track record such as your own.”

“Well Luther and Diego pretty much founded it because they have a short temper,” he says nonchalantly as he starts naming people on his fingers. One’s expression twisted, heavily disturbed that either Klaus missed the implication behind his attempt at flirting, ignored it because he wasn’t interested, or fully acknowledged it and is giving a way too honest answer. “Those time-traveling assassins had a torture fetish so that was a given. Cops, dealers, drunkards: they’ve all hit this. Reginald has too with his cane a couple of times…”

“What the f-”

“But-” he interrupted, again, “punching me in the face is VIP status. Both Ben and Dave have taken a go at my poor cheek. And now you; welcome to the club but just warning you… there might be a reason you’re the only VIP left. You think karma likes me? God doesn’t but maybe karma does.”

He doesn’t even know what to say to that; the mood had vanished as soon as Klaus said his other two brother’s names. 

“But I mean I am a Hargreeves: our arguments consist of deflection, denial, pain comparison, and beating the crap out of each other so maybe the fact that I’m not the most violent of persons isn’t really making my odds any better.”

Oh. That made a lot more sense. He was talking about _actually_ being hit. One looks at him sheepishly; why is their relationship so chaotic? They go from flirting to being mad at each other in seconds, bantering to arguing about their childhoods, talking about each other to snapping about others; and even when Klaus is getting under his skin, even when he won't shut up about Ben, even when One is pissed off and cursing his name, he still feels the incredible urge to smash his lips against the medium's and suck the literal words from his mouth. Even when he has an elbow pressed against Klaus's throat because his mouth was too big for its own good, he'd envision choking him with other things until he's sprawled out beneath him in a whimpering mess begging for more or mercy; either one was insatiable. 

Anger _and_ lust should not be such enticing emotions when associated together. But Klaus is alluring, and a brat, but still alluring nonetheless. The medium calls him boring but maybe he's just holding back to respect his personal space. Maybe he has wanted nothing more than to make him cry out his name, not Ben's or Dave's or whoever else that Klaus was close with. 

But ignoring those thoughts would be ideal at the moment. He's still in a diner, Klaus is still not over his dead boyfriend, and they still were arguing like five minutes ago. 

There was something odd about Klaus's presence: you're never really sure if you want to smack him upside the head or give him a hug. Both _because_ you love him, both _because_ he's infuriating as hell. 

"If getting the shit beat out of you a couple of times made you who you are now, then I'd say it's not so bad that you're the weak non-violent type," One muttered, keeping eye contact the entire time; it was satisfying to see Klaus both look pleased and offended simultaneously. 

Klaus's eyes sparkle roguishly as he gives a small smirk. "Well aren't you a smooth-talker. Sounds like somebody's warming up to me."

"No, more like somebody's trying to tell you that you're an annoying as fuck idiot but you're not too bad. You have your moments." He smiles, both in enjoyment at the medium's confliction and in satisfaction that he was able to get the desired effect.

He was very pleased with himself, although he wondered how he went from yelling at Klaus just a few moments ago to subtly suggesting his fondness for the man. Hell, he was so whipped; he couldn't even stay mad at him for more than a few minutes. 

"I'll take the 'not too bad'." Klaus appears serious (or seductive; to each their own) as he leans a little more forward, putting only a few inches between them. "But as for the 'annoying as fuck idiot' part, it seems that _you_ are just as much of an idiot for enjoying it."

His brow raised. “Oh? And who told you that I did?” 

“Nobody needed to tell me,” He smirked devilishly, “I’ve been around the block a few times; I know your type quite well. You act all hard and tough on the outside, but on the inside…” he pauses, dipping a finger in his whipped cream before poking One in the nose, “You’re simply gooey.”

Klaus then popped the finger in his mouth to remove the remaining cream and leaned back into the booth, folding his hands and putting them in his lap as he crossed one lengthy leg over the other. He smiled innocently despite the smug expression on his face.

Number One just blinked at him, frozen with a dumbfounded look. He hoped that the blood rushing to his cheeks was less noticeable than the blood that had already rushed southward. 

* * *

“And then he nailed me in the face and that’s, Luther dear, how I got this ugly purple bump,” Klaus finishes with an unnerving smile towards his biggest brother, raising his glass of a cheap marshmallow vodka and club soda mixture into the air with a ‘cheers’ motion.

“Damn, it almost looks like it’s pulsating,” observed a brother of One’s, his eyes warily wide.

“Yeah, dude, you hit him HARD,” Diego praises, an impressed tone to his normally supercilious voice, “Klaus how were you even standing after that?”

“You can’t be knocked out if you’ve got nothing but air in your head,” Five muttered as he sipped his own alcoholic concoction. 

“Hey!” Klaus whined, a pout to his lips, “Sure, it’s bruised, but I’ve been slapped by jealous girlfriends harder than that. I barely felt it.”

The mentally fifty-eight-year-old man deadpanned, lowering his glass to reply, “My point exactly.”

The medium sneered at him and then mumbled into his straw, “It doesn’t look that bad…”

“You’re right,” Vanya said, causing Klaus to perk up before she added, “It looks awful.”

He waved his hand in a dismissive manner, clearly trying to brush off his own concern for how his face looked. "Well all of you can just kiss my ass; it's what's on the inside that counts."

The group collectively snickered as Luther commented, "That's not much better…"

For a brief moment, One locks eyes with Allison as she grins appreciatively at him.

'Thank you,' she mouthed, glancing from Klaus leaning over the dining room table to stick his middle finger right in Luther's face before back at him with relief and fondness in her gaze.

One rolls his eyes despite the proud smile tugging on his lips, shrugging his shoulders subtly as he turns his attention back to the medium pathetically defending himself from his siblings' insults. 

The lightest shade of pink dusted his cheeks as he noticed that Klaus wasn't wearing his dog tags. 

"It's as Gandhi always said: there's a _'be you'_ in every _beautiful_."

Diego crossed his arms and scoffed, "Gandhi has never said that; _nobody_ says that."

One gives a shit-eating grin as he remarks, "There is also a _'hide'_ in every _hideous_."

A look of betrayal crosses Klaus’s face as he gasps in offense, the curly straw in his glass being launched in One’s general direction.

“Oh go choke on a ketchup-covered worm, Bird-brain.”

He tittered, warmth spreading through his chest; the arrival of The Umbrella Academy may be the best thing that has ever happened to them. Too bad good times can’t last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya like cliffhangers? It must get worse before it can get better
> 
> Teaser:  
> "I know cool people don't sleep and all, but I don't think drinking counts as resting."  
> "Give me about twenty minutes and another bottle and we'll see who can fall asleep the fastest."


	5. Kiss Me to Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally cracking a snide remark or just silently offering ears willing to listen was enough; he doesn’t do physical contact, intimate contact. He wasn’t sure what spurred on this action exactly, especially since he has never touched Klaus in such a way before and their relationship has been strictly bound to making fun of each other or hectically flirting at inopportune times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here we are, the last chapter. It's really long but I am VERY proud of how it turned out. This chapter alone covers four major scenes in their relationship and is over 12,000 words... Oopsies! I totally could have broken it up into two chapters but nah where's the fun in that? Anyways, enjoy!

“Hey Di, have you seen the little Sparrows anywhere?” Klaus asks, hopping down onto the couch beside the man polishing his knives.

“No, why?”

“I got a bone to pick with Christopher; the bugger stole the last pudding cup, can you believe that?”

Diego’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Christopher? I thought they didn’t have names.”

“Well, officially they don’t but the same could be said for us as well, huh? So yesterday while they were training, I gave them all names and we were going to go over them at dinner tonight and-”

“Woah, ok, slow down there," the man said, a look of bewilderment crossing his face, "You, of all people, gave them _real_ names? And they actually _liked_ them?”

"First of all, ouch," Klaus grumbled in faux offense, "Second of all, I'll have you know that I'm actually quite good at naming people. When you’ve been around as many faces as I have, you get a feel for the names that match each person. Robert’s, for example, are always pretty, good-natured jokesters that have peculiar moments of seriousness at times, (Honestly I’m quite surprised that I’m not a Robert myself). Then there are Justin’s that can be anywhere from quiet socially awkward book worms to hot cocky playboys that sip boba on their lunch breaks-"

“These are oddly specific-”

"And don’t even get me started on David’s-”

"Ok; I get it, I get it," Diego groaned in annoyance. He tried to hide his eagerness though as he added, "So what are their names, then?"

"Well, Four is Christopher-"

"Wait, the cube stole your pudding? Dude, he doesn't even eat-"

"Shut up, Diego! I know it was him! Anyways- Sparrow Five is Titus, Three is Brandon, Two is Eva, Six is Selena, Seven is Leigh-"

"Seven was ok with Leigh? Isn't that kinda feminine?"

"Have you ever seen Seven?" Klaus deadpanned. "He's gay; he knows it, I know it, now you know it. Don't question my intuition."

"Geez, hostile much?"

"Shush- um who else? Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven…" he stopped counting on his fingers and clapped his hands together, "Oh, well that's everyone!"

Diego raised an eyebrow. "What about One?"

The medium crossed his arms. "What about him?"

"What's his name?"

"Oh, um, about that, he didn't get one. That asshole kept making fun of every name that came out of my mouth yet pestered me constantly about when it was going to be his turn. So after I named everybody, I smiled at him and said _That seems to be everyone._ You should have seen his face, Di; it was hysterical. You know when he gets so mad his face turns bright red?"

Diego shook his head with a chuckle, "Yeah, especially when you're around. You're such a dick, Klaus."

"Psh yeah, yeah. He didn't deserve a name, besides…"

The knife-wielder paused his polishing and looked at him in question. 

"I ran out of ex's."

Diego's mouth opened and then closed, blinking a few times before trying to speak again, "You named them after your ex's?"

"And hook-ups," Klaus added with a shrug, "Of course my list is _much_ longer than that, but those are the only names I can remember. Would you be surprised if I told you that I rarely asked for their names?"

The man shakes his head with an exasperated sigh, "Not at all. But you're really not gonna give him a name?"

"He already has a name."

“Yeah, but like a _real_ name.”

“He’s _Birdy_. That’s his name.”

“Bro, you are literally the only person who calls him that.”

“It’s not my fault you guys don’t want to.”

Diego rolls his eyes, “Let me rephrase,” he gives him a pointed look, “You are the only person _allowed_ to call him that.”

Klaus blinked at him a few times in ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t noticed?” The man looked at him incredulously, “Come on Klaus, don’t tell me you’re _that_ stupid.”

Klaus’s brow knitted together, his lips in a thin line. “Noticed what?”

“That he will literally strangle the life out of someone and hide their body in the woods if they call him _Birdy_ _,_ " his nose wrinkled slightly, “Except for you.”

The medium frowned, “He gets annoyed when I say it too-”

“But not _really_ ,” Diego scoffs, “He pretends but very poorly: you can practically see his eyes turn to teddy bears every time you open your mouth.”

“I-” his face was glazed, his lips bobbing similar to a fish out of water. “No he doesn’t, he’s always surly and-”

“Don’t even try to deny it.” Diego sent an unamused glare, “You’re good at reading people, I know you are; you just try to act oblivious and flippant to everything. He’s got a soft spot for you, I can’t imagine _how_ , but he does. And you know it, too. I’ve seen you guys at dinner: I can’t even eat my food without the two of you making me wanna puke.”

“What do you-”

“I get it if you guys are fucking, but at least try to keep it to yourselves; I don’t want to know, especially since you’re my brother and he’s-”

“What the hell?!” Klaus practically shrieked, “No, no, no, brother of mine; you got it all wrong! We are not, by any means, playing around in the sheets. There’s not even a _we_. There is simply a good bantering dynamic that he and I take full advantage of.”

Diego looks at him vacantly, like his mind was trying to process a million things at once but not registering that he was staring. “You’re honestly trying to tell me that all the suggestive looks and coy remarks, all the inside jokes and teasing, and cheeky smiles… are because you guys have a _good bantering dynamic_?”

Klaus gives a side smile but his eyes are stolid. “Yes..?”

“Yeah, of course,” Diego shakes his head in a tsking manner, “And the world has never ended, I prefer a gun over a knife, and Luther isn’t in love with Allison.”

The medium’s expression soured, “Well that’s just rude.” He then sighs dramatically, leaning back against the couch and crossing one leg over another, “Ok so maybe we’re two damaged people that bond as a coping mechanism: he reminds me of Ben and I remind him that life doesn’t have to be so ‘tough and serious’ all the time. That doesn’t mean we’re fucking, maybe we’re just friends-”

“With benefits-”

“No! Jesus, what do you want from me here? To admit that I’m a horny bastard that flirts too damn much with people I barely know and accidentally cause them to ‘catch some feelings’?”

Diego gives a half shrug, his brows raised in a ‘Well…” manner. 

“Well, you’re wrong. Birdy is just… a nice person deep down and he pities me because he doesn’t know me well enough not to. It’s nothing real-”

“Or maybe he’s in love-”

“No,” Klaus said, his expression hardened and serious, making Diego’s eyes widen a little, “He _isn’t_.”

Diego frowned. “How do you know-”

“He. _Isn’t._ ” 

The man shifts, setting his knife and rag aside to look at his brother. “Whatever man. All I’m saying is that it _could_ be a possibility. Think about it the next time you go around making your flirty comments; One’s a good guy and I respect him, I don’t need my brother messing with his very _limited_ feelings, ok?”

It stings a little, Klaus admits. Does Diego really think that lowly of him? Diego is more concerned about One’s feelings than his? Well, he can’t say that he’s _surprised_ ; that’s the worst part. His bond with Diego has had a disconnect since the events with Ben and him; it made sense that he now wants to protect One as well. 

He gives a wry smile, looking down at his hands. “You really think I would do that to him? I respect him too; you got nothing to worry about-”

“Guys- family meeting; _now_.”

Diego and Klaus exchange a look before chasing after Luther.

“What’s wro-” Diego goes wide-eyed, Klaus following his gaze to the TV screen. 

“Is that..?”

“They need our help.”

“Then what are we still doing here?” The medium questioned, snatching a pair of keys from the wall, “They aren’t getting any younger.”

<~>

Being Number One had its perks.

Everybody listened to you. 

You were their leader, assigned at birth to guide and protect them. They all looked up to you. They respected you. They relied on you. You felt important.

You were first for everything.

You never had to wait in line for things. You were the first to be interviewed, the first to be called upon. You got first dibs on the front seat and Mom's mug of world-famous hot chocolate. You felt special. 

You were everybody's favorite.

Dad told you everything. Your siblings told you everything. Mom asked you everything. People came to you for advice, company, and support. You felt loved. 

And while being Number One sounds like everything is handed to you on a silver platter, sounds like it's a privilege and a blessing, an outsider's view couldn't be more incorrect.

Everybody listened to you, even when you had no idea what you were talking about. You were their leader, assigned to guide and protect them but sometimes you didn't know what you were doing. Sometimes you didn't know if the _best_ choice was the _right_ choice. They all looked up to you, respected you, relied on you; expectations of not just them, but your father, the authorities, and everyday citizens rested upon your shoulders. You were important because if you failed, they'd all suffer the consequences. Their loss, their pain, their death… it was all on you. Always. 

You were first for everything even if you were scared. You were at the front of the line for tattoos, battles, scolding, and anything in between. You were first to be interviewed no matter the amount of blood and gore matted in your hair or spotting your clothes; you had to speak, you had to set an example, you had to strike fear in the enemies even if you couldn't tell the difference between the taste of metallic from the inside of your cheek and the crimson liquid painting your face. You were called upon even when you had nothing to say, no excuse to utter, no will power to fight. You sat in the front under Father's watchful eyes even if you were anxious, even if your siblings were sad and needed comforting, even if they were bleeding out on the back seat. You were always given hot chocolate _even if you didn't like it_ , you were expected to accept and drink it or else everyone would follow in your footsteps and decline. You were special and special people got special treatment, even if you wished you could fade into the background. Even if you wished you could, for once, not walk into the unknown and show not a moment of fear or hesitation. 

You were everybody's favorite; you didn't get alone time. Dad told you everything and expected you to listen, to drop whatever it is that you are doing, and be there with eager ears. Your siblings told you everything even if you weren't in the mood to hear it, even if you'd rather _not_ hear it. Mom asked you everything even if you didn't have the answer, even if you were clearly preoccupied with other things. People came to you for advice you didn't always have, company you weren't always eager to provide, support you weren't sure you could give. You were loved because you always _seemed_ to know what to say, know what to do; nobody questioned what you said even if they _really_ should. Even if someone needed to call you out for being brash and insensitive; if _One_ thought you were being a baby, you were being a baby. If _One_ thought dying your hair red was a horrible idea, it was a horrible idea. If _One_ thought it was a good decision, it was a good decision; it could have been a bad decision, a REALLY bad decision. You don't know everything despite what others think. You were loved because you were someone to fall back upon if things went wrong; a team is only _as_ _good_ as its leader. And that's what you are, a _leader_. _Their leader._

Truth is: being a leader sucks. Being Number One sucks. 

And in situations like these, situations where your team is hurt, and tired, and scared… You couldn't be. Because you are Number One.

There wasn't supposed to be this many enemies, they weren't sure where they all came from. The storage yard was a wreck, bullets were raining down upon the metal container they were hiding behind. Everybody was sore and exhausted. They were all looking at him, waiting for him to give an order. They couldn't retreat; they were cornered behind this storage bin. Their father was watching, the news was watching, the world was watching; he had to do something, he had to come up with _something._

Maybe if they spread out, took them from different angles..? Then all the firepower wouldn't be focused all on one spot; it would be easier to pick them off that way, right?

It was worth a shot but the question is: how would they all get into position? They would need a distraction, somebody that could divert the fire until everyone is out of immediate danger.

But he couldn't ask any of them to do that, they might not make it; they all couldn't fight to the best of their ability at the moment. And if somebody got hurt because of his plan, if somebody potentially _died_ because of his plan, and it _still_ failed… then it was _all_ on him. 

So the only person fit for causing a distraction was _him._

"I will take the brunt of their fire," he says in his most authoritative voice, leaving no room for protest or wheedling, "Everybody spread to the storage bins along the perimeter. Two, three, four: go left; the rest of you, right. When everyone gets to cover, give the signal and begin retaliation; I'll try my best to distract them with the Horrors until then. Got it?"

There were grim nods that followed.

"And no matter what," he adds, "don't focus on me."

Eva and Leigh go to object but he raises a hand, giving a forced smile despite the bile and nerves bubbling at the base of his throat. "If you see an opportunity to retreat, you do it as a team. But don't come back for me; that's an order. Your main objective is to get the hell out of here. Don't make me get up there with my hentai tentacles for nothing."

Brandon gives a small snort, putting an assuring hand on Selena's shoulder. Titus shakes his head with the slightest of smiles on his face. 

"If you get hurt, I'm telling Klaus you said that," Leigh threatens light-heartedly, trying to hold back his tears with a soft sniffle. 

That makes One's face fall for a brief moment before he recovered his mask of determined fearlessness. What if he died? Would the Umbrella Academy ever know what happened? Would they be devastated that they lost their 'Ben' all over again? No, he mustn't think about them right now. His family comes first, they're in danger; he can't start having doubts now. It'll only distract him if he thinks about them, if he thinks about Klaus. 

They aren't here, they are blissfully unaware; they are safe so there is no need to have their wellbeing in his mind. He must focus.

"So I better be extra careful," One replies, "Or I'll never hear the end of it-"

"It sounds like they're on the move," Christopher announces, "Now's our chance as they reload."

One's features harden, swallowing down his apprehension and doubt to only feel his determination to protect his family. "Ok," he breathes, "Go now!"

He scrambles to the top of the storage container, lifting his shirt and dropping the mental barrier keeping the Horrors at bay. 

The monsters burst forth, tearing into the gunners already pointing at his siblings' running forms.

He relents a tad more of his control, allowing another two to slip through the portal of his stomach. His eyes are watching his siblings, his mind is only thinking about them; not the searing pain in his abdomen, not the bullet that just grazed his shoulder. The men are no longer advancing forward, choosing to put some distance between them and the Horrors. Another bullet grazes his knee but he is not deterred; just a little longer, hold on a little longer. 

Movement on the far side catches his eye, four men breaking off from the group towards Five, Six, and Seven. They don't even see the men, they're still going towards the first storage bin.

_They're not going to make it_ , he realizes in fear, his eyes widening.

He tries pushing the Horrors towards that direction but they don't quite reach, choosing to attack the closer men instead. There's nothing he can do, it's going to fail, he's going to fail; all he can do is watch them charge into danger. He's helpless, powerless; they are going to die and it's all his fa- 

A small blue blur interrupts his thoughts. He squints as the four men begin firing at each other as something darts back and forth between them tauntingly. In less than a couple of seconds, the men are down and the small silhouette standing in the middle wipes his hands on his shorts before vanishing to the next group. 

Before he can consider it much more, he sees three knives fly through the air, burying themselves in the necks of the gunners. There's a man with longish hair manipulating the trajectory of bullets as he punches the face of the gunman, pulling the knife from his first victim to plunge it into the other's chest. 

His siblings make it to the first storage bin, Titus staying behind as the other two move on to the next. 

There's a white glow coming from the blockade at the exit before it explodes, a short woman hovering above the ground flicks her wrist as the bullets fired at her burst in the air. 

_The Umbrella Academy_ , his mind supplies, _They're here. They're actually here._

He wants to smile but suddenly there's a crane launching through the air, crushing two of the men in front of him and sending a concerning shudder through the storage bin One was standing upon. He stumbles, the Horror retracting ever so slightly as he tries to regain his balance. _Damn it, Luther_ , he thinks but then there's another figure sliding into the storage yard.

She moves nimbly, fighting off one guy before rumoring another to kill some of his colleagues. If One wasn't preoccupied at the moment, he'd make a mental note to never get on Allison's bad side.

He watches as the Umbrella Academy starts on the outskirts, slowly fighting their way inward; most of the gunners haven't noticed their presence yet as the Horrors began to move more erratically. One was tiring himself out; he knew his control was slipping with each second that passed by. But maybe they had a chance now: they had backup of their own.

He gives a quick scan to the other storage bins, seeing only one running form left.

Christopher's green glow is all he needs to know that they're in position and One lets a smile slip onto his lips that they managed to pull it off. They could escape now, Vanya cleared the way. Or Five could jump them out. Or Luther could-

He stops as a sharp pain erupts through his side; he gasps, the Horrors yowl as they begin spasming and thrashing uncontrollably through the air. One grits his teeth, under much strain as he calls them back before they tried to rip themselves free from his abdomen. The pain was not helping, _at all_. He lets a shaky hand run up his side, his fingers catching on a deep crevice soaking wet to the touch. He hesitantly looks down to see his hand dyed crimson, his index hovering over a bullet hole the width of his thumb. 

His mind goes blank, his body doesn't want to move. He finds himself vacantly staring out over the battlefield in shock just as a storage container goes tumbling across the ground, trampling men as it went, heading straight for him.

The bins collide and One is rocked jarringly on already buckling knees. He lurched forward before being swung back, his hands unable to steady himself as he went falling backward off the storage container.

He lands with a loud thud, all the air escaping his lungs. His head is spinning; distantly, he feels the throbbing in his side from where his hand is latched in an attempt to slow the bleeding. There's a soft ring coming from his ears but he's not really sure why, the world before him seemed spotty. 

He tries to speak but he's overwhelmed by a burning sensation in his lungs, he wheezes before relaxing his body into the pile of ropes he landed in. 

_It could be worse, I could have fallen into the water._ The statement is grim. 

But then he frowns, his thoughts coming a little slower. _But nobody knows I fell back here. How will they know where to find me?_

He tries again to say something but he can't get anything out of his mouth like his lips were too tired to form the words. _It's probably for the best. I wouldn't want to alert the enemies of my weakened state. Or make my siblings come rushing from their vantage points._

He sighs painfully, his body feeling heavy and sluggish. _It would be best to move somewhere where they can see me, but then again, I'm merely a distraction at the moment._

The hand holding his wound slowly falls away, laying uselessly at his side. _So this is how I'll die: on a pile of ropes in a crappy storage dock. Not the way I envisioned things, but I also didn't expect the Umbrellas to come and start knocking shit around._

He thinks about them and his family, out there in the midst of battle together; he hopes they're all alright. He hopes that his siblings are safe. He hopes that the Umbrella Academy will help them finish the job. He hopes… secretly, that someone will find him.

He doesn't want to die; he's the leader, leaders don't die. He needs to be out there fighting by their sides and saving the day. He doesn't want anyone to blame themselves for his death, he doesn't want the Umbrella Academy to fear that they were too late and failed their dear Ben once again. He doesn't want Klaus to have to experience yet another loss in his life, to feel that One abandoned him. He was just recovering from Dave, he was getting better with Ben; the last thing One wants to see is for Klaus to shut himself in his room, never to be heard from or seen again. Who will check on him? Who will monitor his alcohol consumption? Who will force him to go to dinner? Who will make sure he's eating? 

He gives a sad smile. He really was going to be like Ben soon, huh? Would Klaus summon him? Would he be a ghost?

But then it dawns on him: he never even saw Klaus enter the complex. It's a relief mostly; the man said he wasn't much of a fighter, at least One knows he is safe and out of harm's way. If he was here, there would be no one to protect him; _he_ wouldn’t be able to protect him. And if something happened to Klaus because he failed to be a strong, _better_ leader, he'd never forgive himself. 

He hears footsteps close by, followed by grunts and cries of pain. There is the sound of bullets whizzing through the air but they are all thudding against the storage unit and by the gasps of confusion and alarm that are suddenly rising around him, he can assume that none of them made contact with their attacker. 

One feels some panic bubble within; what’s going on? Who’s winning? Is he in danger? 

He should move but he can’t, his body feels like a ton of lead is resting upon his chest and weighing down his hands; he wants to help, he wants to warn his siblings, he wants to do _something_ . And he _can’t_ and it’s terrifying as everything on the other side of the bin goes relatively quiet, as in, _somebody_ won and they’re heading this way.

It takes every ounce of his remaining strength to turn his head just in time to see the person rounding the corner, his eyes are having trouble focusing and the sun seems a little too bright behind them. One squints, starting at their knee-high boots before traveling slowly upwards to their wind-whipped curls. The person stops dead in their tracks, green eyes flickering from relief to concern upon recognition. 

  
  


One’s face blanched. No, he can’t be here; he just can’t be. He wasn’t on the battlefield earlier, he never came storming in with the rest of his siblings. There is no way he could have made it across the battlefield single-handedly, there is no way he’d be able to find him. 

The person’s face appears pallid but then they’re running towards him and One can’t help but rasp a both relieved and terrified, “K-Klaus?”

The medium slides down onto his knees in front of him, his face a mask of worry and somber. He sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes settle on the wound still sluggishly pooling blood onto the rope beneath him. His gaze looked haunted for a second like flashbacks were crowding into his mind. 

One tries to move his head again but Klaus snaps out of his haze in an instant, pressing one of his hands to the hole firmly while the other lifts One’s head off the rope and onto his lap. 

“Y-You shouldn’t be h-here,” Number One weakly grumbles, now able to see Klaus’s face looking down upon him. 

The man shakes his head, his brow furrowing, “Shut up, you idiot; what were you thinking staying the center of attention so long like that? You’re lucky they didn’t shoot you in the head the first time you stumbled.”

One looks at him curiously. How did Klaus know all that? How did Klaus even know where to find him?

“H-How-”

“The ghosts. They told me you fell back here after Jameson took a shot at you.”

“Jame-”

Klaus pressed his hand a little harder into the wound, causing One to cut himself off with a hiss. “Stop, he’s not important. I took care of him,” Klaus said with a wry smile before lifting his head and glaring at the far corner of the container, “Oh shut up, you. It’s not my fault you accepted the job; death is an occupational hazard.”

One huffs in amusement, his head lolling against the man’s thigh. He felt such admiration and comfort at the moment; he underestimated Klaus’s ability to defend himself. It wasn’t that Klaus was not much of a fighter because he was weak but because he was a force to be reckoned with; he’d just rather not be haunted by the bitter ghosts of _his_ victims. The man didn’t need protecting, others did.

It made a strange warmth spread through his chest that Klaus ditched his pacifist nature in a heartbeat to defend him, but perhaps there was nothing meant behind it. Klaus is a good person, a caring person, he’d probably do the same for any of the others. 

“Hey,” Klaus says, catching his attention, “Whatever it is that you’re thinking about, stop. You’re not going to die; don’t look so accepting.”

One takes a shaky breath, his eyelids staying closed a little longer with each blink. “G-Go,” he mumbles, “It’s not safe…”

“And leave you here to bleed out? No way, not a chance,” the medium snaps, frowning at him as his free hand came up and brushed away the sweaty hair clinging to One’s forehead. 

“But the others-”

“You stubborn dumbass, _they weren’t shot_ , okay?”

One’s eyes stayed closed too long this time, the man’s fingers curling tightly against his torso a reminder that he can’t _afford_ to fall asleep right now. He tries to stir himself but Klaus’s hand on his forehead gently holds him down. “Woah there, buddy; you are in no condition to go after them _either._ ” 

“Klaus- they- they need-”

“I’ll handle it. You’re no use to them like this. Relax.”

“But-”

“ _Relax._ ”

One feels tears well in his eyes. “I’m scared to,” he whispers, barely audible but he knows Klaus heard him by the way the hand stroking his hair stills, “What if I… I don’t... ” Everything feels so fuzzy, he can’t get the next words from his mouth. His vision is darkening and it’s becoming harder and harder to focus. 

“Do you want revenge?” He hears Klaus ask in a wolfish voice; he forces his eyes to open, seeing the medium looking not at him but to the left of the container.

“Ok, rude, but what about tying up loose ends and moving on?”

It takes One a second, but he realizes that Klaus is asking the _dead_ if _they_ want revenge. The thought chills him a bit; is that how Klaus defeated the other men?

“It’s nice up there, you know. Sure, God’s a little vexing at times, but you get used to it. It’s a quaint little forest with bike paths and stuff; all of your loved ones will be there waiting.”

It does sound nice; has Klaus been there before? He almost wants to laugh at the thought of Klaus and God butting heads; he did say that she didn’t like him very much and from what he has gathered, it seems Klaus returned the feelings. He has to wonder what _exactly_ caused God to hate him so much; sure, he’s pretty annoying but there is a charm to it. Although she has probably seen every second of Klaus’s life and knows things One could never imagine.

For a brief moment, One wonders who would be up there waiting for him; or would he be able to see any dead person he desired to? Would he see Ben, or would he _be_ Ben? Would he get a glimpse into Ben’s memories? 

“Don’t be scared,” Klaus mumbles, “I know the light may seem intimidating but I promise that you can go into it whenever you’re ready, it’ll be waiting for you to accept its invitation. But don’t stay here and wander around miserable because of fear; go up there, be happy. After you get your closure there will be nothing left for you here, just gravy.”

One tells himself that Klaus isn’t talking to him, but the voice is so soft and assuring it’s lulling him to sleep. He tries to fight the drowsiness, the heaviness, but his eyes skid closed and he knows that the ghosts must have agreed to fight the gunners because there’s a blue hue to his eyelids and a frigid atmosphere that has settled over them. And now that he knows his family will win, that everyone will be safe because Klaus is _here_ , he feels his remaining strength leave him.

And as his awareness is fading, he hears a gentle voice say, “It’s gonna be okay, Birdy. I’ve got you. Rest. And no matter which world you wake up in, know that I'll be right there waiting,” just before he slips out of consciousness and everything goes black. 

  
  


<~>

Soreness: that’s the first thing One feels as he slowly comes to. His back is stiff and there’s a kink in his neck. The smell of rubbing alcohol and, well, regular alcohol stings his nose and the lighting is very bright against his eyelids. The bed’s uncomfortable and the sheets are itchy and he knows that he has to be in the infirmary room because that bed seemed to be designed entirely for making you _wish_ you were well enough to leave. 

So he made it home; that’s good.

A hushed conversation is heard to the right, one person seems a lot closer than the other. He hears a female’s voice and a creak of a chair; she’s most likely sitting by the bedside. 

“I know you meant good but you were a little harsh, don’t you think?” _Definitely Allison’s motherly tone._

“I said what I had to,” _Undoubtedly Luther’s mulishness,_ “We were all thinking it.”

Curiosity is a weakness. But he has had it, _always_ , and right now is no exception. So maybe it wouldn’t hurt if he pretended to be ‘sleeping’ just a little longer. 

He heard Allison shift like she was crossing her arms. “Still, he’s… well you know how fragile he can be.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure he’s fine-”

“Did you even see the look on his face when you pointed out the blood still caked on his hands?” She scolded, “He looked like he saw a ghost, metaphorically this time.”

Luther scoffed, “It wasn’t _that_ bad-”

“He was staring at his hands for a good thirty seconds afterward; there was a cut on his lip from him biting it so hard!”

“Klaus always spaces out, though.”

_Wait... Klaus? Klaus was in here?_

He opens his eyes, squinting for a moment against the harsh light. He hears a gasp and then Allison is standing over him with a wide smile on her face.

“One, we are so glad you’re awake. We were worried sick,” she then turns and glares at the other man in the room (who appeared like a kicked puppy at the moment), “Way to go Luther: you woke him up.”

“But- But you were also-”

One wasn’t really listening; he frowned as he noticed that they were the only ones in the room. He tried sitting up but hissed in pain as his side throbbed. 

“Hey now, where do you think you’re going?” Allison questioned, delicately pushing him back down onto the mattress, “You’re in no condition to be up and walking yet. If you need anything, we can get it for you.”

“I’m fine,” Number One grumbled, gritting his teeth as he attempted to sit up again. A hand rested on his shoulder to stop him; he scowled at her, “God damn it, woman, I am not a child.”

Allison looked unamused; she jerked his shoulder, making his torso stretch and burn near the wound. She smirked as he snarled at her. 

Luther looked horrified. “Allison, don’t do that-!”

One rolls his eyes and removes her hand from his shoulder, “Oh put a sock in it, Luther. If you want to be useful, get me some painkillers from the medicine cabinet.”

“O-Oh, uh yeah, ok; I can do that.” The ape-like man leaves the room with a determined look on his face like he was just assigned an important mission. 

He almost wants to roll his eyes again at Luther’s antics but instead, he turns to Allison and asks, “How long have I been out?”

The woman sits back down in the chair, her hands folded in her lap, “Hm two days, give or take.”

 _Oh,_ he didn’t realize it’s been _that_ long. “Have you guys been here the whole time?”

She shakes her head. “God no,” she chuckles, “We’ve all been switching off; it was my turn but Luther fell asleep during his shift last night so he decided to stay a few hours longer today.”

He stares at the sheets, refusing to meet her eyes as he mumbles with a small frown, “And Klaus..?”

She grins devilishly. “What? Disappointed to see me? Were you hoping to see someone else waiting for you to wake up?”

“What- no!” he blurts almost instinctively, glaring at her as his cheeks flushed, “I just heard you guys talking about him is all…”

Allison hums knowingly, leaning forward in her chair. “Well if you were expecting him-”

“But I wasn’t-”

“But if you were,” her gaze softens, “I think you would like to hear that he’s been at your side since we found you. We couldn’t even get him to go to his own room to sleep; it wasn’t until Luther pointed out that your blood was still on his hands that he finally got up out of this chair. We told him to go take a shower and rest; he left a little less than twenty minutes ago.” 

One smiles without realizing it, his heart fluttering in his chest. 

Allison raises her eyebrows smugly.

He tries to cover it up with a weak, “He’s such a hypocrite: telling me that I wasn’t going to die yet he was hovering over me like a momma-bird.”

Her gaze turned thoughtful. “Yeah, he’s always like that; his heart is too big for its own good sometimes.” She then deadpans and says icily, “So if you break it, I _will_ make you regret ever being born.”

He eyes her warily, “Geez, chill out; you got nothing to worry about. We’re not like that.” His heart beats a little faster at the unspoken _'but I wish we were'._

“Really? I thought for sure that Klaus would have made the first move by now… Then again, he probably enjoys being a tease until you say something.”

“Wha- What do you mean? Klaus and I- We’re not- He doesn’t-”

“You guys are so _bad_ at hiding it,” she cuts him off with an eye roll, “Save your breath.”

Before he can protest it any further, Luther returns with the painkillers and a glass of water. One eagerly takes them from his hands and gulps them down before scooting to the edge of the bed despite the stabbing pain in his side. 

“At least give them time to work,” Allison chides with a frown, “He’ll probably be back after he sleeps for a few hours.

He retorts without a second’s hesitation, “You know as well I do that he’s not resting.”

Luther stands dumbfounded in the corner, confusion evident on his face. “Who?” he asks. 

One ignores him, grunting as he forces himself to his feet; Allison’s at his side in an instant, holding his arm to steady him. “Well, if you see him”, she relents with a small sigh, “tell him to go to bed.”

“Wait, we're really letting him leave? But I thought-”

“It’s not like we can stop him,” Allison chuckles with a shake of the head as One leans against the wall and slowly makes his way out of the room, “Typical Hargreeves stubbornness.”

“But where is he going?”

The woman just smirks and calls, “Be careful, Birdy. Don’t overdo it. No playing rough!”

“Why do you get to call him Birdy?”

You could say that One _politely_ flipped them both the bird. 

He meandered down the hallway, moving at a particularly slow pace due to the fact that each step, each breath, made his wound throb in protest. But he swallowed it all down and kept going because he had a sneaking suspicion that Klaus was, by no means, resting. And if by simply granting the man his alive and spryful presence got him to take better care of himself and to not worry so much, then what's a little pain? 

His feet guide him to Father's bar instead of upstairs to his room or the guest shower. It seems he knew him too well to even begin expecting him to _not_ be drinking. Klaus wasn’t a simple man but he had simple needs and those mainly included distractions from what he’s feeling.

What was going through Klaus’s head right now? Was he scared? Distressed? Mournful? Did seeing One bleed out on a mission remind Klaus of the last time he lost someone? Was he thinking about Dave or Ben? 

A small, selfish, part of him hoped that Klaus was thinking about _him_ , worried about _him_ , missing _him._ An even smaller part wanted to see Klaus cry; _he would just open his arms and the medium would come running in, he would hold him close and whisper promises in his ear about how he will never leave him. Klaus would look so small and delicate and he would just want to protect him from the entire world and-_

He shakes it off; he just got up ten minutes ago, it was too early to be fantasizing already.

He rounds the corner, following the light footsteps he heard in the main room. As he approaches, he sees someone’s back to him, a glass of scotch in their hand and a blue towel wrapped around their head. One scrunches his nose in slight annoyance; that was _his_ towel.

“I know that cool people don’t sleep and all, but I don’t think drinking counts as resting.”

Klaus goes rigid for a moment before setting his glass down on the bar counter and whirling around with a warm smile. 

“Give me about twenty minutes and another bottle and we’ll see who can fall asleep the fastest,” Klaus replies wittily, his eyes lingering on One’s bandaged torso a little longer than necessary.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he mumbles. He didn’t like the look on Klaus’s face as he stared at the injury and, well, One has always been a little insecure about his body; not everybody loved to see a tentacle monster rolling beneath your skin, after all. Why didn’t he ask for Luther to bring him a shirt too?

He bites his inner cheek as green eyes gaze into his soul once again, irises radiating so much earnest emotion that the medium looks like he could cry or maybe laugh hysterically; one of the two was bound to happen eventually. 

“I’m aware,” Klaus chuckles a tad forcefully, a slight airiness to his voice as he removes the towel from his hair and ruffles his curls with it a few times, “I was just thinking about how now you might have a scar more gnarly than the one on your face.”

Number One frowns, overcome by a vague sense of self-consciousness. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“N-No,” yes, this smile was definitely forced, the nonchalant drying of his hair an act, “I never said that-”

One is already making his way across the room, towards him despite the much stinging he has to endure; hearing Klaus trying to cover up the hurt in his voice, and actually being able to _do_ something about it, made the pain worth it. _Deflection, deflection; when will you learn?_

“-It makes you l-look intimidating, a real emo vibe going for you,” the medium is rambling now, sounding more nervous with each step One took towards him, “Maybe even sorta s-sexy; I’m sure Diego digs it-”

One pulls him into a hug, shutting Klaus up immediately. The man felt like a barbie doll in his arms: cold, stiff, lifeless. The medium didn’t breathe, he didn’t move, he didn’t even look at him; he just stared over his shoulder with glassy, exhausted-looking eyes. 

In a sense, Number One begins to regret this spur of the moment decision; he made things awkward, didn’t he? He never knows what to do in situations like these, situations where he is forced to provide comfort for people. Normally cracking a snide remark or just silently offering ears willing to listen was enough; he doesn’t do physical contact, intimate contact. He wasn’t sure what spurred on this action exactly, especially since he has never touched Klaus in such a way before and their relationship has been strictly bound to making fun of each other or hectically flirting at inopportune times. Perhaps he was the one that needed the hug after having his life saved by someone he has inconveniently learned to deeply care for; perhaps he hoped that the gentle contact of skin would assure the man that he was alive and well. But what he does know for sure is that this isn’t how things are supposed to go; nothing in the entire universe could have prepared him for such an absent reaction. The question is: does he let go and pretend it didn’t happen or does he keep holding on until Klaus is ultimately forced to push him away?

If he remembered correctly back to the day at the diner, Klaus wasn’t one for blatant displays of affection and mushy conversations either. Maybe he should have stuck to the snide remarks. Well, better late than never he supposes. 

“Why do you smell like Six?” One asks out of the blue, a wrinkle of his nose against the man’s unruly hair.

A heartbeat passes between them in utter silence and then he’s rushed with relief as Klaus seems to break free from his spell and melts against him, burying his head into his shoulder as his spindly arms wound around his neck to avoid a brush with his injury.

One fills with elation.

The medium smirks against his collarbone and shoots back, “How do you know what she smells like, hm? Does this Number One have a kink for incest too?”

“Hell no; I just can’t stand her fruity shampoo.”

They fall quiet for a few moments and then Klaus lets out a soft sniff. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” the medium mumbles, the arms around One’s neck tightening their hold ever so slightly. 

One smiles into his damp, fragrant curls, replying smoothly, “All thanks to you.”

He feels Klaus frown. “It was nothing. Luther’s the one that carried you.”

The ‘ _but you defeated everyone with an army of the undead’_ was left unsaid. Perhaps Klaus was being bombarded by angry, vengeful ghosts. Perhaps he just didn’t like using his powers in general and would rather not talk about. He won’t pressure the issue, no matter how _badass_ it was. To describe Klaus in such a way felt wrong on his tongue. 

“I heard you, you know,” One says suddenly, the memory becoming fresh in his mind and the events more vivid as he continued to recall the spectacle that was Klaus that day, “As I drifted out of consciousness.”

The medium tenses, but says a small, “Oh? Did you enjoy my ghostly pep-talk?”

“I did but that’s not what I’m referring to.”

Klaus sighs, flippancy tinting his voice as he utters, “Well, you see, I was just letting you know that you wouldn’t have to be alone if you died; I already lost one brother who only stuck around because he was scared of moving on and-”

“Did you really think I’d leave you behind in this freak show that easily?”

The medium’s mouth snaps shut. He gives a hesitant shake of his head.

"That's what I thought. Now stop thinking about it; I'm right here and I'm okay. It's going to take a lot more than one measly bullet to keep me down."

Another beat of silence, Klaus sighs against his skin and it sends a wave of goosebumps over him. 

“Can we… can we just stay like this for a few more minutes?”

The request is muttered so softly into his shoulder that One thought his hopeful brain was playing tricks on him for a second. Was Klaus really asking permission to hug a little longer? 

“It’s… It’s been a while since…” Klaus trails off and One doesn’t think he has ever heard him sound so vulnerable before. The odd urge to protect him resurfaced again but he’d be lying if he said that he wanted to turn down the request.

He teases warm-heartedly, “Well what kind of hero would I be if I turned away from a citizen in need?”

Klaus snorts and shakes his head, not an ounce of exasperation in his voice as he replied, “You’re ridiculous.” 

One tries to hold back a smile as he gazes fondly at the top of Klaus’s head. _Only for you_ , he wants to say but he feels like that’s crossing their boundaries a little further and he’s not ready for what he will find quite yet; the hug was enough for today.

He cheekily remarks, “But you missed it.”

Klaus sinks into his embrace a little further, a smile on his lips. “I did.”

* * *

"Where's Klaus?" Leigh asks at the dinner table one night. Consequently, all eyes turned to Number One. 

He shrugs and offers an offhand, "How should I know?"

Gazes continue to linger: some appearing curious, others entirely unconvinced. 

He scowls; was he missing something? Why are they all looking at him like that? He hates being left out of the loop.

"What?" He snaps. A few look away while fighting a smile. "Spit it out. You all clearly have something to say."

"Well…" Diego starts, uncomfortably shifting in his seat, "Aren't you guys a 'thing' now?"

One's face felt very hot all of sudden, not enjoying the simple question yet difficult response from everyone around him; they all appeared eager to know or, perhaps, eager for confirmation. 

Well, sucks for them: he honestly has no idea what he and Klaus are and he highly doubts that their one-time hug last week could count as a confession. 

They haven't brought it up since so he's not really sure what they're blabbering about now. 

"Why does everyone keep thinking that?" He questioned a tad too defensively, "All we do is argue and insult each other; what about that exactly reads _romantic_ to all of you?”

Titus adjusts his tie and says rather squeamishly, “Well you guys hugged and we just assumed.”

Oh, wonderful; somebody saw them hugging? This is going to be a _fun_ situation to lie his way out of (Note the sarcasm. He bets all his money on Leigh being the one who told them and if he’s correct, then there will be no possible way to deny ever doing it; his brother sees things he shouldn’t all the time).

“So what: hugging means we’re a couple now? It wouldn’t be weird if I hugged one of you guys.”

His siblings exchanged glances.

“Yeah, it would,” Eva said plainly, “The most we get out of you is a half-assed squeeze to the shoulder.”

“Well he...he was sad and he hugged me,” he lies through the skin of his teeth, “Pushing him away would be a dick move, even by my standards.”

“You always let him call you Birdy,” Luther chimes in hesitantly.

“Yeah and I could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife,” Diego adds with a twirl of his blade, “Klaus gave me some bullcrap about you guys having a _‘good bantering dynamic’_ but I’m not buying it.”

“You _do_ always join the conversation when he’s around,” Vanya points out shyly. 

Five hums in agreement. 

“You smile, too,” Allison excitedly includes, “We rarely see your smile directed anywhere else.”

“Maybe because he doesn’t make a big deal out of everything I do,” he hissed in embarrassment, “I didn’t know everybody was so interested in something that _literally has nothing to do with them_.”

“Fine,” Leigh declares, folding his hands upon the table, “If there is truly nothing going on between you two, bring him down to dinner.”

One’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What? That’s it?”

“Yup,” he smiles sweetly, “We won’t bring it up again after that.”

Number One still isn’t entirely convinced that the task would be that simple but he stands up from the tables anyways. “Deal,” he mutters. 

Leigh appears pleased with himself but doesn’t say another word until One is entering the hallway. “Oh and Uno, you might want to change out of the skinny jeans; I heard music coming from the gallery.”

One rolls his eyes; if he knew where Klaus was, why did he ask earlier?

Sometimes his clairvoyant brother did things that wouldn’t make sense to anyone but himself. 

And it was infuriating.

<~>

Leigh was, unfortunately, correct about music coming from the gallery. One made his way down the corridor to the upbeat sound of Prince's _Kiss_ , opening the door to an odd sight, to say the least. 

Klaus was pouring himself a glass of wine in the middle of the room; One could assume that it was not his first serving by the almost drained bottle in his hand. His feet gracefully moved to each beat, hands fluttering around him and eyes closed as the now empty bottle was forgotten on the floor. The medium seemed to be enjoying himself as a carefree smile played on his lips; his low-cut black T-shirt rode up with each movement, his long floral patterned skirt flowing like water around him with each sway of his hips.

He drinks the red liquid with ease, One being drawn to the small trickle of sweat that bobbed with his Adam's apple as he swallowed. There was something obscene about the way Klaus danced, the way his lips partially parted with each breath and the feminine skirt enhanced the elegance of his legs in a beguiling manner. How could one man appear so beautiful yet so undeniably handsome at the same time? How could he wear a skirt and makeup yet carry an enticing masculinity with him wherever he went? The duality was impeccable, his presence was insatiable; sometimes One wondered if the predatory hunger he felt deep within was galvanized by the Horrors or the medium himself.

He wasn’t much of a dancer but he wanted more than anything to dance with Klaus. He wanted to put his hands on Klaus’s hips and just hold him there as the medium rocks to the rhythm of the music against him, that impish smile on his face and seductive look in his eyes. 

He’s so lost in the fantasy that he doesn’t even register that he’s closing the door behind him, that he’s staring with dark lustful eyes.

Klaus twirls lazily and his gaze lands on One for a brief moment; and with the man’s small squeak in startlement at having an audience, the enchanting vision is over and he comes crashing back to reality with the realization that he probably resembled some form of a voyeur at the moment.

"Howdy," the medium greets, lifting up his glass.

“Uh… They wanted you to join them at the dinner table,” One mumbles sheepishly, unnerved by the way Klaus leered at him as he took another sip of his wine.

“And what if I don’t want to?” he murmurs against the glass, olive eyes not leaving his chocolate ones in challenge.

 _God,_ he hated that suggestive tone. He absolutely _despised_ it; Klaus was some forbidden fruit that he couldn’t _touch_ , couldn’t _taste_ , couldn’t _have._ The prettiest of stars shining bright to his naked eye but realistically forever out of reach; he dances and plays on his heartstrings, hitting just the right keys at just the right times but no sound ever emanates. He was doomed to wander a melodicless world.

“Then I’ll have to persuade you,” One said indifferently.

Klaus raises an eyebrow, the glass still to his lips as if he were silently asking _how?_

One didn’t have a reply to this; he’s not really sure why he said that in the first place. He couldn’t _force_ Klaus to do anything and whether he tried using charm or intimidation, the man always seemed to twist his words in a manner that left One flusteredly speechless.

The medium smiles at his hesitance as another, slower, song begins to play. He lowers the glass, inquiring silkily, “Did Daddy ever teach you to ballroom dance?”

His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth but he manages to give a subtle nod.

Klaus sets down his wine and holds out his hand, “Dance with me and I’ll consider myself persuaded.”

It takes all of his willpower to _not_ vehemently shake his head, to _not_ just throw Klaus over his shoulder and call it a day. But the look on Klaus's face was so intoxicating: he was just _so_ sure of himself, _so_ equanimous. His whole body released an aura of warmth and invitation: that hand creating a bridge between them that, if he played his cards right, could allow him to cross over to a music-rich land where they played their own tune.

In a moment of rash decision making, he takes his outstretched hand and is then being led to the middle of the gallery. One’s not sure what to do with himself when they get there; yes, he learned how to ballroom dance (they all did by the age of seven) but the dancing was always between a hetero pair. 

Where does he put his hands? Who will take the lead?

They are both quite obviously men so it would be considered rude to just _assume_ the role they should have to partake in; they also can’t _both_ lead. Of course, he could just abide the woman’s role to be polite but he doesn’t have the slightest idea of what to do in it; Father was always very strict about the roles they played in accordance to their gender (He thinks that’s one of the things that drew him to Klaus so much: the man dressed and acted however he wanted without hesitation. It was empowering; he was the embodiment of freedom and One enjoyed the rebellious nature that filled his heart whenever he thought about Father’s disapproval of the man and the corruption of his perfect little Number One that the bewitching medium unregretfully catalyzed). 

Klaus seems to recognize his awkward stiffness and confliction, gently placing one of One’s hands on his mid-back as he himself places the mirrored limb on his shoulder. Their right hands clasp together and then the sultry melody of _Careless Whisper_ guides their feet into a casual waltz about the room.

One was relatively surprised by the fluidity and grace the medium demonstrated despite the entire bottle of wine in his system; he seems to be quite familiar with the following role in partner dances.

Klaus’s eyes flit around the gallery, lips quirked upwards and a look of serenity to his features; he appeared so content and unworried as they maneuvered along the floor that One couldn't tear away from his gaze. He recorded every detail of the man’s face with an almost concerning precision.

There was no sense of time between them, no awareness of their surroundings. It was just them; only them. Nothing could interfere as they circled around the room like orbiting planets, Klaus’s gravity was too strong to escape.

One’s heart was practically beating out of his chest and he couldn’t think straight, relying heavily upon muscle memory to usher him in the correct direction.

He didn’t watch the moves as they were done or the dizzying features of the room as they blurred behind the medium; his attention was only on Klaus, _he only saw Klaus_ : every flare of his skirt, every flex of his toes, every bounce of his curls as they framed his face in his half-up-half-down hairdo. He didn’t hear the music as it played, it was all senseless background noise as the verses and chorus blended together into one continuous stream; he only listened for Klaus, _he only heard Klaus_ : every delicious breath that escaped from his lips, every soft thump of his feet on the cool wooden floor, every rustling of fabric as it rippled with each step and gentle caress. 

He was hypersensitive to every single perfect imperfection on the man’s body, from the slight crinkles at the corner of his eyes to the chapped skin of his lips; each second that passed felt like an hour and he’s so enraptured by the man’s entire existence that he’s not even paying attention as he spins Klaus and steps back onto the discarded wine bottle. It rolls forward beneath his foot and he’s knocked off his balance, accidentally pulling Klaus down with him as he goes crashing onto the floor.

He winces, his recovering injury shouting in protest as Klaus toppled onto his chest. Their heads bonk into each other and they both go flinching back with a hiss. The man rubs his forehead in an attempt to soothe the blooming ache while One just grimaces miserably at the ceiling. 

But when their eyes meet, they just blink at each other a few times before busting up in laughter. 

What a pair they were; this was quite the disaster, huh?

“I’m never gonna dance again,” One mutters as his chuckles die down.

Klaus, still lying upon his chest, grins. “Thank God, those guilty feet got no rhythm.”

“Shut up,” One says in mild embarrassment, “You were the one who left an empty bottle on the floor. Don’t you know how expensive that wine was?” 

“Of course I did,” the medium looks at him lackadaisically, “Why do you think I drank it? I gotta get my inheritance somehow.”

  
  


One rolls his eyes, “He’s gonna kill you when he finds out-”

“ _If_ he finds out so shh, it’ll be our little secret.”

The mischievous twinkle in those enchanting green eyes made his chest swell with sinful urges. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to _do._ But how could he? He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself; he didn’t want to taste the bitterness of rejection and feel the hollowing ache of not being good enough. Being turned down by Klaus would make him unable to show his face to any of his siblings ever again, unable to look any member of the Umbrella Academy in the eye. It could possibly be the stupidest and most humiliating decision of his entire life but... right now, alone in the music-filled gallery with Klaus’s hands on his chest and his warm-colored skirt cascading over his waist, there is nothing he’d rather do than something stupid.

There was a flash of concern in Klaus's eyes as he took notice of One's somber expression.

"What is it?" He asked softly, a small frown on his lips. 

One gazed at him with wistful eyes.

Maybe it was the way the man was carefully straddling his hips, maybe it was the long delicate fingers curling into his shirt, maybe it was the olive green doe-eyes looking into his soul; maybe it was all of the above. Now, it was the moment of truth. It can go either way; he can sink or fly (Klaus is and always will be an enigma. Who knows what's going through his head at the moment…)

"I'm…" he begins, feeling his palms sweat upon the curve of Klaus’s hips (how and when his hands got there, he’s not really sure). "I’m at the edge of a cliff."

Klaus's face goes blank, waiting for him to continue.

"And I know I should turn away," One says cryptically, "There are warning signs and red flags all over telling me to turn back but…"

The man peers at him in puzzlement. His brow ever so slightly wrinkled as he tries to understand where One is going with this. 

He mumbled, "But?" 

"There's a pretty green glow down there that's been practically calling my name." One slowly slides his hands upward, now resting on Klaus's mid-back. The man went rigid, watching him with wide and cautious eyes. Although, he made no move to object or pull away like One assumed he would do. With new-found bravery, he continued. 

"And maybe it's a siren trying to summon me to my ultimate demise or a hungry beast with emeralds for teeth; maybe it'll be my worst and final decision ever made. But all I know is that it's hypnotizing and I'm dying to find out what awaits me," his hands have now made their way to Klaus's neck, one cradling the back of his head while the other rests daringly upon his jaw. "And curiosity has always been a weakness of mine."

The hands on One's chest pressed a little harder into his shirt. _There's no going back now_ , he thinks as he begins to pull Klaus's face towards his.

"What are you-"

"-So I'm taking the leap."

And then he captures his lips, his lids lowered but not quite closed as he observes Klaus's reaction. The man is stiff in his hands, mouth taking no initiative to reciprocate or to pull away. He's not sure how he feels about that; does Klaus even want this? He didn't really ask or give him a choice; at least his eyes are closed… right? This is stupid. This is so stupid. Why is he kissing him? What made him think this was okay? 

Fingers are now gripping tightly into his shirt, and with the bitter realization that the man is just letting him use his lips, One pulls away and slowly rests his head back on the wooden floor.

After a few moments of them just breathing, Klaus speaks.

"Why… why did you do that?" he mumbled, eyes searching yet conflicted. 

It stings, but One doesn't want to show it. It was just a stupid mistake. Maybe he can recover what little respect Klaus still has for him if he plays it off as a spur of the moment thing and not a long-overdue attempt to claim that which he tabooingly desires with every fiber of his being. 

"I don't know," he lied, dropping his hands to the floor as well, "It just... felt right."

That seemed to be the wrong answer as his green orbs flared in anger. "That's not good enough," he said almost desperately despite his obvious frustration, scanning his face with a frown.

"Oh and why not?" Number One snapped back, feeling defensive as his heart pained with the rebuff. 

"Because I need to know if…"

He scowled, his gaze cold and angry. "If what?" He demanded.

"If this is real." 

One feels the air leave him at the apprehension in Klaus's eyes. His anger dissipates in less than a second and he quietly asks, "What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to do something you might regret," Klaus answered honestly, his hands loosening their grip on his shirt. "So please, tell me right now, that this is real, that I'm not imagining, that you actually _kissed_ me because you _wanted_ to, not because you felt you _had_ to."

That one sentence, less than thirty words and said in a matter of seconds, revealed more about Klaus than ninety percent of all their other conversations. That one sentence showed all of his past pain and commitment issues, it showed how he has been used and taken advantage of. It showed that he knew that a kiss could mean ‘ _I love you’_ just as much as it could mean ‘ _You're merely a distraction’._ It showed that he had been blamed, beaten, and accused of seducing and manipulating, it showed that he felt that nobody could really be interested in something _real_ with _him._ And if people made Klaus feel that he _couldn't_ be loved, that he didn't _deserve_ to be loved… then there was something seriously wrong with humanity.

One will make it his mission to heal the wounds, to assist in the fading of scars; he couldn't make Klaus forget his pain and suffering and grief, but he could give him new happier memories to think about. 

"Klaus, the only thing I regret is not doing that sooner."

The medium's gaze softened, his eyes appearing glassy and his lip sucked between his teeth. 

"If I didn't want to kiss you, I wouldn't have done it. I'm an asshole like that." He smiles teasingly, "And did I hear that correctly? You've imagined me kissing you?"

Klaus rolls his eyes but there's an unfathomable fondness there, his body relaxing as One's hands gently return to their position on his hips. "Like your ego needs an answer," he says with a watery chuckle. 

One perks up a little more, "Is that a yes?"

The medium sighs and lowers his head to the point where their noses are almost touching. "Sure," he smirks, "Among other things."

"Other things?"

The Horror rolls in excitement and Klaus lets out an airy laugh, the breath fanning his cheek smelling more sweet than alcoholic. 

"Little virgin Birdy," he coos bewitchingly, "Getting riled up so easily."

One glared at him, making Klaus's grin grow wider. "It's because you keep squirming on me," he argued as the tips of his ears flushed a deep red.

"Or maybe I'm just too hot to handle."

"It seems like it's _your_ ego that needs a check."

"You wanna check it for me?" The medium mumbled flirtatiously, his lips brushing against his with each word formed, "It should be pretty big in here."

One's eyes narrowed at the tease, his irises clouded with love and lust. He murmurs, "Among other places..." before crashing their lips together in a passionate kiss. 

It was not difficult and one-sided like the first one, instead their mouths moved in perfect sync with one another, the medium returning every ounce of energy that One poured in. 

Klaus's tongue tasted like the most decadent of honey against his, the faintest hints of Château d’Yquem lingering in the recesses of his mouth. It was sinful: the feeling of Klaus's long curls tickling his cheeks, the quick inhales and heavy exhales escaping his nostrils, the steady weight of his perfectly curved ass sitting flush against his hips, the gentle rippling of his thigh muscles as they subtly clenched with each dance of their tongues. 

It was all too much yet not enough; a fire was alit in his body, steadily growing with each fine-tuned sensation that drifted briefly through his mind before immediately being replaced with another. 

He was ravenous, kissing with a frantic fervor in a hope to distinguish the heat building inside him while Klaus's movements were languid and methodical, enjoying the moment and taking his time in a confidence that assured this wasn't going to be a one-time fling.

There was an odd sense of beauty to their chaotic pushing and pulling of feelings, something that One wished he could capture from a third person's point of view so he could catalog every single detail in unbias clarity and then store it forever in the depths of his memory for recalling and cherishing in the many days to come. 

He let out a soft groan as the medium's hand wove through his coal-colored hair with a small tug, his mouth devouring every breath that threatened to escape from his lips. 

With a hum, Klaus pulls away, leaving One to gasp for air.

"This is so very wrong," he comments, one of his fingers twirling around a piece of One's hair with a not even the slightest bit guilty smile on his face.

"A little late to be saying that now," he replies huskily, placing another hungry kiss to his lips.

Klaus returns it but pulls away again, saying, "Yeah but this is like crossing into a whole new level of fucked up."

"Just stop talking," One said with a scowl, trying to shut him up with another kiss because _damn it_ _he wanted it_ , but Klaus tauntingly withdrew his head just out of reach.

"We have the same Dad," the medium pointed out bluntly, "And you're technically my dead brother in a different timeline."

"So? New timeline, new me. We weren't raised together," One grumbled. He tugged Klaus a little farther up his waist so he could reach his lips once again. 

"Yeah, but aren't we still technically siblings?"

Number One stopped and blinked at him, asking warily, "Is that… going to bother you?"

"Does it bother you?"

"No."

"Then..." Klaus grins widely, a mischievous glimmer to his eyes. One knows there is no good that could come from it but he feels his blood rush excitedly anyways, "Are you wearing your favorite purple undies right now?"

"Wanna check? I heard my ego's pretty big down there."

“So I take it we’re not going to the family-get-together dinner, then.”

“I’d say _fuck them and their stupid dinner,_ but I can think of something better to fuck at the moment.”

The medium pretends he's tipping a hat as he snickers, "Well then: yippee ki-yay brother fucker," before enjoining their lips once again, the faint melody of a forgotten song playing in the background. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING! THIS IS LIKE MY FIRST MAJOR CHAPTERED AU WORK THING THAT I'VE ACTUALLY FINISHED! (In record time too).
> 
> A special thanks to my lovely readers that gave the loveliest of comments, I always read them and smiled and hoped you could feel the appreciation and enthusiasm I poured into each reply.  
> And EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS to @Val_Creative for inspiring me to write this in the first place and actually taking time out of their day to read it! It means the world to me! 
> 
> So this is it, for now. Maybe this'll become the first part of a Sparrow One x Klaus series? I mean... our boy never did get a name... I guess we will see what the future holds in store;)

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure you check out the work that inspired me! It's fantastic!


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